May
I sat for a while
on the stone bench
outside Pulitzer's Journalism Hall
soaking in the lush,
living scents of spring
Heard the crack of Gehrig's bat
and the baseballs he
sent careening through
the third floor windows
Left my shoes
beneath my backpack
and walked barefoot
across the plush lawn
feeling the dewy grass
between my toes
Lingered beneath the canopy
of pastel blossoms
letting the dark trees stretch
their wiry limbs over me
creating pink clouds, soft and sweet
Dreamed of the days
when Langston Hughes
laid on this lawn,
legs stretched out,
leaning on one elbow
reading excerpts to his lover
His ragged leather sandals tossed aside
half covered by a suede sportcoat
whose elbows were thin and shiny from wear
A mishmash of broken pencils and
pens unknowingly lifted from professors
strewn about pages from journals
containing lines that would one day
enlighten the world.
Thought of Alexander Hamilton
and FDR and what they studied here -
how it may have given them the insights
to later lead America
Pictured Dr. Spock
watching children laughing
as they toddled
along the cobblestones
Imagined Allen Ginsberg,
Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs
and Garcia Lorca -
the smoke they may have shared
on the stone slab steps of Low Library
Remembered Eisenhower, Madeline Albright,
Ruth Bader Ginsberg, and
Boutros Boutros Ghali -
the wars they fought,
the peace they sought
the direction they gave.
And then I sat for a moment
in complete silence
wondering who around me
was the next Nobel winner
to add to our list of 60+
I exhaled,
putting on my shoes
and gathered up my pack
wondering if the legends of this place
look over us aft they've passed
to guide a new generation
Posted by Amanda at May 01, 2003 01:46 PM
