by Pinny Bulman
some seeds take root
before a season’s start, i held you
after last night’s call with jamie
and thought about the dandelions in ewen park
still so beautiful this time of year,
why do some things grow
where they shouldn’t?
this morning i take the stairs
two at a time
while i still can, the sky
so large up on this subway platform
the pigeons drunk on pollen and trash
wheeling in the wind that will soon
descend to make a wish,
from this vantage point
i can see the earth’s curvature
and the place our maps end
where things just slip
over the side.
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[Pinny Bulman is a Bronx Council on the Arts BRIO award-winning poet and author of old shul (Ben Yehuda Press, 2023). He has been winner of the Bermuda Triangle Prize, recipient of several ADR Poetry Awards, and a finalist for the Raynes Poetry Prize. His poems have been anthologized, including in Korean translation for Bridging the Waters III (Korean Expatriate Literature & Cross-Cultural Communications, 2020). Additional literary publications include San Pedro River Review, great weather for MEDIA, The London Reader, Artemis, Muddy River Poetry Review, Red Paint Hill, Jewish Currents, and Poetry Quarterly.]
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