Approaching Paterson... (Response To Reginald Harris)

Levi Catoe

approaching Baltimore

today, I returned home...

silk city, it’s silk, silk city baby

way, way, way... down, in my parents base-

ment through the opaque desert storm of fog

that covered the windows of my soul, like a

bandit’s mask, while, stealing the stench

of time, that is quickly passing us by...

silk city, it’s silk, silk city baby

parents, now known as grand-parents

whose knees that no longer bend the

rigors of up & down these crippling

flight of steps that never offered fa-

vors from, parents that never asked.

silk city, it’s silk, silk city baby

I am reminded as I search this concrete

dungeon beneath my earth, my foun-

dation, this be my home, this legacy

of a life lived, this blood, sweat & tears

this testimony, this metaphor, for

stand by your man, this reason for staying

this think the kids, when he cheated, this

that ain’t enough but, still I tried this blood

sweat & more tears, this generational ques-

tion of where’s my wealth?

silk city, it’s silk, silk city baby

finally, this trunk, this old trunk that

my, mother inherited from my grand-

mother, rich in golden memories, it

stood beside that stubborn wall that

dared me to move it, but I did, de-

termined to find my grandmother’s

old photo album beneath polyester

slacks, leisure suits, and cotton swea-

ters that chased the moths back into

the flames...

silk city, it’s silk, silk city baby

opened up those plastic covered pages

that knew how to tattle-tale ‘on my yes-

terdays, while bringing my ancestors back

to life. Polaroid’s, becomes the novel, writ-

ten long before I was born, a novel of cell-

uloid Beehive hairdos, bouffants & conks

screaming elderly, stuck, on faces of youths

silk city, it’s silk, silk city baby