Anthony Cappo
Thank you to whomever
planted the pink tulips
under the flower beds
of the just-blooming
trees on Gansevoort Street.
Bright, fulsome, swaying
in the breeze—petals the size
of my palm. Three beds in a row,
framed by metal edging with spikes
like helmets of World War I German soldiers.
Taller flowers peek above the rest
like baby chicks popping out
of their shells. Some flowers with petals missing,
exposing the yellow pistil, the stamen,
the ovaries. Showing procreation can thrive
even in the midst of pandemic.
But even in this brilliance, this magic, I still hear
the ambulances cranking up their sirens—
the soundtrack of the streets of late.
On sidewalks, no faces, only eyes
bordered by masks. Remind me
that even in a world with beauty
not everything is going to be alright.
Grateful even more for this pastel shock,
so unexpected, that shook me out of my head,
made me gasp a deep breath.
—Submitted on 06/01/2020
Anthony Cappo is the author of When You’re Deep In A Thing (Four Way Books, forthcoming 2022) and My Bedside Radio (Deadly Chaps Press, 2016). His work has appeared in THRUSH, Prelude, Entropy, The Rumpus, and other journals, as well as in Poems in the Aftermath: An Anthology from the 2016 Presidential Transition Period (Indolent Books 2018), edited by Michael Broder. Online at anthonycappo.com.
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