July 11, 2021 - “A Shiny Penny” - Alexandra Pauley
When you shuffle along the same befouled, concrete sidewalks day after day, it's hard to get excited about what you see on the ground. I've seen everything from rotten produce, to rusty appliances, to used condoms. Anything of value was snatched up microseconds after touching the ground, so I never hold my breath that I'll spy those.
But on rare occasion, I find something of intrigue. An item that speaks to me, through subsonic pulses, vying for my attention. That, happened only yesterday. Despite the overbearing street noise, consisting of obnoxious taxi horns, never-ending construction, and angry voices, which is a given in any city like this, I heard the faint call of a secret siren. A voice, so fragile and hushed, yet, driven and insistent, that I could not ignore it. It grew exigent, as I moved forward, growing to a quiver. Upon passing an overturned, old school, metal trash can, which had seen better days, I spotted my quarry; a solitary, shiny penny. Strange, in its pristine appearance, among the droppings of humanity.
Although, not a whole penny. Upon setting it in correct position in my hand, Abe side up, it was apparent that the better part of his chest was missing. The copperesque quality looked out of place in my pale, cracked palm. Years of manual labor were hard on the skin.
Confused, I flipped the coin over, then, discovering it was upside down, flipped to correct it. The crest on the back, had been partially removed. Wracking my brain, trying to remember what had been on that part of the penny, I drew a blank. Quickly, I dove into my deep purse, aiming straight for the bottom, where all of the abandoned coins huddled together, and pulled out a penny, going directly to the back. And there I discovered what had been intentionally removed from the shiny penny which I had found on the street; E Pluribus Unum. “Out of many, one.”
_____________________________
Alexandra Pauley is the author of Semi-Sweet Sarcophagus, Wacky Won- ders Chocolate Boutique Cookbook, On The Verge Of Being Homeless: A Guide To Wise Decisions, The ‘New Homeless’, and other works of fiction and non-fiction.
An advocate to the homeless population, she is currently volunteering with Sleepy Herd, Inc. Alexandra has a B.A. in Psychology, and is a Certified Science of Happiness Specialist with Hapacus.
July 7, 2021 - $2.50 by Jordan Myers
$2.50 gets you an English Breakfast tea at the Cosmic Diner on Eighth Avenue. You can sit outside and watch people walk by, and watch cars and trucks drive by. There’s also a bus stop nearby, so you can drink coffee or tea and watch people stand and wait for the M10 and M20 busses as well. There’s two tables on the sidewalk and it’s an easy way to spend a half hour at the end of the day on any afternoon, especially at dusk. The tea is served in those light blue ten ounce “It is our pleasure to serve you” paper cups, which are the perfect size. And the brand is Celestial, which prints quotes on the tags at the end of the string attached to the bag.
It’s noticeable: the amount of people who are out and about and walking up and down Eighth Avenue these days, compared to last year, and compared to two months ago. The summer weather helps, but really, people are just over the New York pandemic lifestyle. For instance, as I was standing at West 56th and Eighth Avenue on my way to the Cosmic Diner –––– and waiting for the light to change, and watching cars pass by me before I crossed West 56th ––– I noticed a woman holding the hand of a girl who appeared to be her daughter, who was chatting away ––– talking about memes, and asking her mother to look up and over at a weird looking building. They both stood so close to me. And for a moment, I felt crowded. But this is what it feels like to live in a city that’s emerging from a year and a half of social distancing and fear. Recalibrating to the ordinary rhythm and cadence of life.
But the Cosmic Diner, I was saying. You can sit inside or you can sit outside. The cool thing is that outside at dusk you’ll probably get a table, and you’ll probably have plenty of space to just sit and have tea and remember what it feels like to be a New Yorker all over again –––– whatever that meant for you all the way back then, it’s here again.
July 3, 2021 by Jordan Myers
An ocean of memories from a desolate summer
floods into the shore & washes away, out to sea.
Joy, a muscle worked back into shape, stretched,
repeated, held close; these impulses, strengthened.
July 1, 2021 by Jordan Myers
Inside the breezeway five minutes after Target has closed we stand, milling around, watching the rain ––– deciding whether to make a run for it; or to hold back . . . and keep waiting. At some point the rain slows down, but it’s not clear how slow is slow enough. The rain’s no longer gushing from the sky and falling across Tenth Avenue like Niagara, but it’s not a gentle mist either. Then it happens all at once: one person steps out into the rain; without an umbrella ––– she holds her pink jacket above her head and starts running. Then a few moments later, a couple, wearing the same denims with navy sweaters and Jordans, runs out into the rain as well. Then the lights inside of Target turn off ––– it’s closing time; it’s ten minutes past closing time, but still, a few of us stand in the breezeway, waiting and watching: the rain. The rain . . . the rain.
June 28, 2021 - We kept wondering about Vermont and the ocean at night / in October by Jordan Myers
We kept wondering about Vermont and the ocean at night
in October; how the place at the end of the dock looked
like three winters collapsing into spring; & how everything
kept spinning. No images forever in flight ––– only the sea.
June 27, 2021 - Tuning into signals and signs and background / images . . . by Jordan Myers
Tuning into signals and signs and background
images from beyond heard from a whispering
city at rest one week after the solstice at dusk.
June 25, 2021 - Of course you know that scene during the resistance march / when the guy with the toothpick and the fifth of vodka mixed with sprite / crosses the street. by Jordan Myers
Of course you know that scene during the resistance march when the guy with the toothpick and the fifth of vodka mixed with sprite crosses the street. Only a few people notice him at first but then he starts saying all types of crazy things; things that no one can quite understand, so everyone slows down a little bit and starts to watch him. It’s not clear at first whether he’s talking to himself, or whether he’s talking to the people marching, or whether he’s talking to god, or whether he’s talking to America, or whether he’s talking to someone who just passed by on the street in the distance, or whether he’s talking to society, or whether he’s talking to a loved one long gone ––– a ghost, but it’s clear that he has something to say. Everything he’s saying he’s saying loudly –––– and with conviction ––– with power. We’ve all seen him. Some days I stop and watch. Other days I look him right in the eye and nod, then keep walking.
June 23, 2021 - Mott & Canal. by Jordan Myers
Sounds in abeyance. The silence of flight.
Chinatown at night. Dusk falling quickly.
Heavy weights lifted. A lightness of being.
All summer feelings. City lights for stars.
Distant sirens aloud. All energies merging.
All timelines merging. All mergers merging.
Spring & Bowery close. Houston even closer.
The East River still. Three bridges bright.