Poetry

Vivian Maier

 

By

Rick Davis

 

 

Walking south down Kimball Avenue

 

 

a disheveled

lonely man

 

seeks connection

shouting to nobody

 

and is stopped

by two lethargic

 

policeman who approach him,

chewing gum,

 

and begin to frisk

this trembling man

 

who screams

“bilingual murderers”

 

without using words.

the future is not

 

his ally.

i walk past him

 

breathing crisp air

communing with november-cool

 

ferns of calmness.

three children

 

and their mother

flicker by –

 

they are vessels

of brilliant energy.

 

i stream

over cracked concrete

 

speaking to

lazy clouds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spiritual Cleansing

 

 

Listening

To a

Political debate

On the radio

 

It is clear

That I am

Perceiving

 

The terrible

Intricacies

Of our species.

 

Although

I look fine

I feel

As though

I have

Dark eyes

 

Outlined

With the dark.

 

As the voices

Vomit into

Microphones

 

I am

Shaken

 

While

Appearing

Calm

 

As if my

Soul

 

Flutters

Like a curtain

 

In an open

Window.

 

I take

A brief

Walk

 

To clear

My mind

 

And nod

A hello

 

To a kindly

Woman

 

Wearing

Blue and white

Collares –

 

Looking

Preoccupied

 

Staring into

Piercing wind,

 

And thinking

Of the

Radio debate,

 

I understand

Why this Santera

 

Is filled

With the

 

Dismal hubris

Of creation

 

But I am

Connected

To her

 

In loving

Shared prayer,

 

And so,

Sliding over

 

Speckled

Sidewalks,

 

I feel

The peace

 

Of the

Invisible

Nurturing

 

Sea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rick Davis

Rick (Richard) Davis is married and lives in the Logan Square neighborhood of Chicago with his wife and grandchild. He graduated from Northeastern Illinois University, and has completed several graduate programs. He has published over 600 poems.