Whitestone

January 3, 2009
By Anjelica Scaletta, Chester, NY

I miss you.
You, with your rich, diverse noises
The trucks at night
The horns, the skids...

Phrases I couldn't understand
Food I ordered, but couldn't pronounce
Simply because it tasted good.

The accessibility
Catching a bus in front of my house
One that didn't take me to school
But to a friend's house
Or a baseball game
at Shea...

How you could walk down a road
and see your best friend or your best enemy
and silently acknowledge each other
And continue on...

How everyone didn't know everyone
The slight feeling of anonymity
Getting lost in the crowd
In the sights
in the sounds

In the smells of hot dogs
on the side of the road, on a hot summer day
Public playgrounds, pools
All meant for play...

Your neighborhoods
all culturally divided...
Everyone knew what you were
by where you lived.
Greek, Italian, Spanish, German, Irish
Your address was your ethnicity

And you took pride in it too
You hung flags on your front steps
Not stoops.
You wore the colors when you wanted
You had parades
You all celebrated when your country won something
Screaming, jumping, honking, shouting
It was all a sweet lullaby that I loved.

And I wished I could leave
Because I hated you then
With your phrases I didn't understand
Your words I couldn't say
Those flags that hung so proudly
Buses in front of my house.
I miss you.
I wish I could come back.

The author's comments:
I wrote this poem one night, after becoming a little "homesick", longing to be back in the city where I grew up.

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orliorly said...
on Jan. 17 2009 at 1:18 am
:D this is amazing!!!! i'm so sorry you miss Whitestone though. =(


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