Sail Me Away
Boats in the Bronx sometimes lay on the land sideways,
half-asleep with their hands curled underneath.
Off in the corner of the backyard, they can often be found
up against a shed,
caught in the space between the tireless bike
and forgotten hula hoop.
A few times you can find a Bronx boat strapped to the back
of a fierce truck -
or dragged into oblivion by a sturdy chain.
I have never seen a Bronx boat on the high seas
of the nearby beach or asleep on the third floor
of the parking garage.
If one had the time or inclination,I suppose a good Bronx boat
can sail across Boston Post Road all the way to the other side of the world,
with all its rough waters
and rabbits in the moon
i got plenty of nothing
i have this half-filled jar with air
just air so sound and secure floating its way free
so it seems..... it does....
it seems to share itself with easy.
i open it so slight so careful...
afraid maybe that passing curtain winds will blow it off its perch in the sky -
off the mountain of good it claims to itself.
wings maybe i think -
a winged bird can open this jar.
the rocks fill the space between the rocks
it can flutter its wings all brown and grey
flutters across your vision
when it passes.
i have this jar all filled with air
filled with tight hard 'once i thought so' air.
now i think 'this or that'
shake the jar i think..
roll it down some hill watch it bump
see it land.
Amy Soricelli has been in the field of career education and staffing for over 30 years. A lifelong Bronx resident, she has been published in Grub Street, Camel saloon, Verse wrights, The Starving Artist, Picayune Press, Deadsnakes, Corvus review, Deadbeats, Cantos, Poetrybay, The Blue Hour Magazine, Empty Mirror, Turbulence magazine, Bloodsugar Poetry, Little Rose magazine, The Caper Journal, CrossBronx, Long Island Quarterly, Blind Vigil Review, Isacoustic, as well as several anthologies. Nominated for Sundress Publications "the best of the net" award 6/13, and recipient of Grace A. Croff Memorial Award for Poetry, Herbert H. Lehman College, 1975.