Ellison

Fourteen stories up
In a building I imagine
Is named for Ralph Ellison
I look down on playing fields
Invisible to the teams
Soccer and Little League
That I pretend to scout.

My room has reflective glass
Inscrutable, impenetrable
Like a Trooper's shades
A million dollar view
Of a river that offered black silence
In response to my snowshoe inquires
Now sparkling, swollen with melt.

I can see the lives move by
On fields and bike paths
As I so often did myself
Wondering who is more real
Knowing that reality is ecumenical
As is the river dark in Dover
Now alighted and alive below me.

Gates

After two days of limited movement
Bed-toilet-chair-bed
Mentally pacing a generous cell
I am disconnected from all tubes
And step onto the elevator
Pressing 1 nonchalantly
As if I did this regularly
As if anything were regular

I blink reflexively at the sun
Shining against unfamiliar snow
Offended at the world
For spinning on without me
But feel little else
Not my tongue
Not the sting
Not the release

One more gate passed through
Another token collected
Gaining entrance to another room
Another test to be tested
Data clinging to me
But little else
Save the sensation that lasts
More gates await

Mantle

A new use of an old and trusted word
That conjures images of fireplaces
Of winter nights and marshmallows
Of picture frames and garlands
Dinner parties and solitude

Or a part of the Earth
That seems imaginary but isn't
The protective layer
Between crust and core
Keeping us from melting

Or perhaps it should be
A garment of power
Worn by feudal lords
Cardinals, popes, and knights
With entitlement or reluctance

Now a cell among many
Fueled by rogue genetics
Assuming the purple mantle of power
Between my crust and my core
With entitlement, not reluctance.