On the corner of Westminster, Providence Rhode Island...
Joe, one of the downtown spare change collectors says to me,
"You know this city used to be an island?"
I say, "Really? How much do you need today?"
"No really, before they uncovered the canal, we used to be standing over water
& if you live here long enough you'll never be able to leave
Psychic forces from Lovecraft's grave bend a special type of gravity - horizontal
That's only attracted to metallic minerals Leached from the cities pipes,
So DON'T DRINK THE WATER!..."
"& this must be why getting to Boston takes so long,
getting home seems to be a breeze
& why Providence the TV show is so popular?"
"Yeah, this city used to be an island"
& I remember how once, Providence didn't have lights
cathedral office towers didn't rise over 3 decker tenements
factory buildings - refurbished into studios
The clouded night sky didn't always glow
If this city was an island, the canal didn't cleave through the middle of it all
It seeped & flowed beneath, which means once it was something else
& someone decided to pave over the water
build buildings over the water
& I know this city used to be an island of safety
a stop on the underground railroad
the DPW still finds tunnels long forgotten
but it was never an island of diversity, everyone on the railroad stopped
& then moved on,
(This part of Providence is Lilly White)
"This city used to be an island"
& we're standing on the right side of the canal
looking at the park
noon time sun casting no shadow - even the alleys get warm
this city is an island of concrete
the tallest office towers in an hour's drive
so I look to my office window - 17 floors up
looking from there my house is an island of color
the only pink house on a horizon of houses built in the 1800's
all facing south to see the ships sail into harbor - back when
Providence was an island of commerce
now the view from my door is of another house & my office window
a quarter mile away next to the other 16 in it's row
This city is an island of perspective...
& I look at the canal that ferried business to the Blackstone
that now burns every other Saturday night
bringing tourists to Water Fire
public art without public parking
I see barges begin to burn, stop, morph into static Steel - Cauldrons
full of flaming wood, dying to ash & carbon...
This city is becoming an island of service big business doesn't make things here anymore
& I looked past Joe to where our house should be & you probably are
remembered how I laid awake this morning listening to the sound of you sleeping
looking out from the bed surrounded by shoes & dirty socks
dirty
clothes & half read books I should finish
our own island surrounded by living
& I said, "Joe, you're right. I'll probably never leave.
Everything I need is right here,
On my own island
But Joe, I think you mean peninsula."
