The Poetry Project

Two Poems

Marc Solomon

to an old dog tired of tricks

what is it about the silence of rain

the quiet after everyone goes indoors

that draws you back to an instant

of suspension between then and now

john coventry was not around

that day ... he had been given a trumpet

no one else could play ... only he

knew the secret for swearing into brass

mouthpieces to release the shrill

sirens of shame a superintendent’s son

could never forego

after rains we climb together down

outside stairwells to flooded

basements ... neither of us knows to

call the green stain on the concrete

walls ... “verdigris” ... even now ... to have

said that word aloud ... would make

a boy feel he’s giving away secrets he

swears he will never grow big

enough to carry

there is a toy piano stranded in the

rain ... someone must have left

it outside ... a songbook has been set

atop the piano ... the book

tells you how to play its songs ... note

by note ... Mary has lost a little

treasure ... unmoored

you steer the book and the piano through

the entrance-way to your building

and put the piano down on the hallway

steps ... you try the easiest tune

things are going well ... you play each

note until you get the tune ... then

you do it again ... when you are ready

to try the next one ... you notice a

grown man has walked into the courtyard

now that the rain has stopped ... you

must have looked up from playing when

you notice the man coming around

even so you don’t hesitate to turn back

and start the next song

he enters the foyer through the main

door and you will have turned ... again

to face him ... the piano will have dried

if it has ever been wetted ... it belongs

to the mans daughter ... we make no

trouble for each other ... and he will take

the piano back to his child

the silence of the entry-way will have

changed its shape ... once more

quietly as rain ... playing piano in hallways

will have loosened the walls’ ready contentment

after showers have stopped for good ... no

eavesdropper will wonder why you had

no marbles of your own to spin through the

moist spots of earth confining your reach

with unexpected urgency a recurring myth

will remind you of what you once might

have remained ... and impels you still to what you

all but certainly can no longer bear not to be

how to map an embarrassment

have you ever fallen out of your chair

you are leaning back ... and back

to see how far you can go

the teacher has told you not to ... once

twice ... you know where this goes

she stops reminding you ... you have

forgotten where you are ... what you

are doing ... the chair crashes before

you fall across it ... why do you

remember this early dose of public

humiliation ... not merely the first of many

but a prelude to an excavation of indented

childhood ... earlier ... there was Patty in

third grade ... Patricia ... red hair

green eyes ... i didn’t understand she

liked me ... she ... was just there ... when

she wasn’t ... it took me decades to

remember the breach ... we moved

i finished high school ... i joined the

navy ... i got married and divorced

i went through a slew of jobs ... my

losses began to haunt me ... i hadn’t

forgotten i had fallen off my chair

at the new school in the class of

the teacher with deep set eyes ... mrs

minor ... i remembered that an assistant

principal smiled meekly only to himself

when i graduated from high school ... no

parents of mine were there ... i now

recognize my divorced mother ... couldn’t

come to see me off on joining the navy

because a part of her life had ended ... and

my own marriage ... though short

still gives me a turn when i reconsider

its naked displacements of trust

but Patty began to turn up ... where

did she go ... why didn’t i see her again

once in early grades ... i did something

that made a student teacher grab

me ... she broke the top button-

hole of my shirt ... when she told me

to go home with the broken

collar ... i cried and wailed ... “she’ll kill

me” ... the assisting teacher sewed up

the button-hole ... there must be more

to this ... but i won’t follow it right now

that particular moment of truth

happened at miller street school in

newark ... where kids like Patty and

me first went to school ... i was more

of a problem ... then ... than i knew

one afternoon i was delayed and left

school ... late ... without taking time

to go to the bathroom ... no one

was on the street ... so i stopped

and furtively relieved myself

against the wall of the store on

the corner where the crossing

lights hung ... when i turned around

i saw Patty at the third floor

window of her family’s apartment ... it

has taken years ... decades to realize ... she

was waiting for me ... her withdrawal

was so complete and decided ... that

i never realized she wasn’t talking

to me ... ever ... i had been in third

grade that year ... at the end of the

next one my family moved four or

five miles away ... i only began to

recognize ... how completely i had

offended Patty after i was well into

maturity ... this instance of regret

might offer a suspension of judgment

broad enough to carry a poem ... but if

it doesn’t ... you will understand why not

#278 – Fall 2024

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