An Easterly Wind Chill Factor
The Photo
I remember January 1964,
Brooklyn was post assassination hardening,
lamppost froze finger,
snow piled thickly forming mounds
of multi-shades of blacks and browns,
and trees were close to snapping.
Cars slished by with gaseous fumes
down the Kings Highway with
honking hurrahs.
The old brick synagogue
on the corner of East 18th Street
was old even then.
There were patches of mortar
missing and the doors of
entrance stood frail and skeleton-like
akin to the very men
who came to pray within.
I aimed to sit at the foot of the stairs
the five brick iced=over-cold-to-your-tush
stairs. Sat and posed with Corky
my limping Border Collie
warming as ever with his presence
but more so on that January Afternoon.
A Sunday?
Smile, my mother said.
She held the boxy Instamatic
in leather gloved hands.
Smile - the word half frozen
as it sparked suspended from her lips.
Chinese Red or Dragon Fire Crimson,
hard to remember now in the Fall of 98,
what mood she was in.
I trembled then with the cold.
More so from the darkness
I claimed as my own
than from Winter.
Holding on to warm dog wagging tail,
on my knees surrendering
to one Kodak moment
and the wind- laced trees.
I smiled for the camera in the New Year’s freeze.
I remember January 1964,
Brooklyn was post assassination hardening,
lamppost froze finger,
snow piled thickly forming mounds
of multi-shades of blacks and browns,
and trees were close to snapping.
Cars slished by with gaseous fumes
down the Kings Highway with
honking hurrahs.
The old brick synagogue
on the corner of East 18th Street
was old even then.
There were patches of mortar
missing and the doors of
entrance stood frail and skeleton-like
akin to the very men
who came to pray within.
I aimed to sit at the foot of the stairs
the five brick iced=over-cold-to-your-tush
stairs. Sat and posed with Corky
my limping Border Collie
warming as ever with his presence
but more so on that January Afternoon.
A Sunday?
Smile, my mother said.
She held the boxy Instamatic
in leather gloved hands.
Smile - the word half frozen
as it sparked suspended from her lips.
Chinese Red or Dragon Fire Crimson,
hard to remember now in the Fall of 98,
what mood she was in.
I trembled then with the cold.
More so from the darkness
I claimed as my own
than from Winter.
Holding on to warm dog wagging tail,
on my knees surrendering
to one Kodak moment
and the wind- laced trees.
I smiled for the camera in the New Year’s freeze.
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