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Ragged Skies (standard:romance, 343 words)
Author: CyranoAdded: Apr 26 2018Views/Reads: 199/0Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A Poet Lost in New York
 



Ragged Pieces Of Sky

Here is where the world comes together to stand on street corners,
brought there through scaffold covered walkways, under ragged pieces of 
sky, carrying their hopes to Central Park. 

You must not listen to inquiries about me from people unless you are
sure they are my genuine friends, and not hostile to my way of life. 
Nothing about me is important, only my work. I'm just finished packing. 
I've got to leave today. I'll not look back, not wave, not wish I was 
staying. New York didn't catch me editing my life for anything longer 
than what I've given. The strangest thing I said all weekend was not 
written, tapped out in Morse code, or implied. A waiter asked if I was 
expecting someone. I said: Yes - a ghost. It must have 
unnerved him, he never returned. I liked saying those words aloud. 

They were unambiguous. 

No one in New York has been told I will be returning, even though I
can't finish what I was brought here to do. If I had friends here I 
should say goodbye. To those who live and work under cranes, walk down 
scaffold-built passageways, those kind enough to write me notes, be 
with them in real time, say: here I am, were you expecting someone 
different?

I wish I knew some way of taking every thing of value that I have in my
soul, mind, or being, whatever you choose to call it, some way I could 
distill it and send it to you in a little bottle. You could take a drop 
now and then, if it were any good, and then what a beautiful use I 
would be. But it might also show that you have dreams of someone so 
different. 

These words are less than a minute old, saying something, while the
pillow on which I slept is still warm. 

My car is here...thank you again. You know I can't stay in a place where
everything is so tall that only ragged pieces of sky can be seen.


   


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