SUNDAY at KING'S CROSS - LONDON


kingsx-620x413.jpg

This morning I went out to meet God,
alarmed at first as he appeared to be Nowhere.
He was not in the tube or the roasters or on his usual park bench.
I well searched and wondered if he had gone to the WestEnd,
for surely God does not want to be found all of the time.

I admit I felt a bit lost and Sunday morning had just become another day.
The city felt dark and there was a cacophony of sounds,
smells and sights that overtook me.
It was as if all of humanity had a hangover.


The sky was blue and clouds puffed about but the sun, The Sun,
was also Nowhere to be found.
I could not figure it out and suddenly loneliness became my very center -
it walked my body through the scapes of this scandal -
a pit grew into the bowels of my being and I began to panic.

I stood stock still in nothingness - without direction.
I disappeared unto myself.
The autumn wind slurred through the trees
and leaves descended all about pulling me with them,
down - down - down to the ground.


So still we were - me and the leaves- quiet as feathers.
Swoosh Swoosh Swoosh - and like the G-note on a flamenco guitar -
this sound elevated the air and I heard;
It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?

Swoosh Swoosh Swoosh
- And there He was -
wearing a green fluorescent jacket and grey pants,
a county hat and a triple ear piercing.

Who knew that God liked to sweep the streets? 


Written on the way to ‘Write of Passage’ with Lori Saltzman
Fall ‘18




nishta matarese