Controlling the Silver

Arriving at the Airport Once Called Idlewild

91 Arriving at the Airport Once Called Idlewild Pilgrims practicing strict worship. The captured in darkness vessels, stowaways who limbo under those quota bars, come to these shores. Lorna, Althea, my friends my sisters; one-heart for putting me up in your walk-up apartments on your good Samaritan’s fold-out couches. How the great city showed me man-made beauty, skyscrapers solid as blue and green mountains, towers now replaced by beams of blue lights. I am sorry for your loss. One hundred newspapers to Jamaica’s then one, one thousand radio stations to our two. I was charged by the waves of human energy conducted through every borough of New York. I visioned my father, revived by it, come through cement portals of a funeral home in Regio Park. Reviving wave wash. ...