Heart Traveler

Heart Traveler

I am always struck by the
grey, grey, grey,
dark grey
of this city
in winter.

At this time of year,
most any slice of color
that slaps the eyes
is manmade,
and usually advertising something
I am told to purchase
or experience.

Sitting
only by default
at the Starbucks
below the hotel
to take refuge
in a cup of coffee,
I stare out
the pane glass window onto
42nd Street and 8th Avenue.

It is a sleety,
hard, cold, grim
kind of morning
and everyone who walks by
is clad in a dark coat
and an empty unhappy
grimace.

But just beyond
their frozen faces
is a huge light-up TV billboard
pinned to the corner
of the Port Authority building’s
steel girders,
looping an advertisement
for something that appears
to offer an internet search service.

The product
that is being sold
is not entirely clear
to me, however,
because the images
have nothing to do with
the internet;
and in fact,
nothing to do
with where I am
right now.

They look just like
home;
beautiful images
of the bright blue ocean,
and a surfer riding
a huge wave
on a short board.

This serene offering,
in the middle
of such an uninspired
and inhospitable
New York City block,
is at once
bizarre
and appreciated—
but mostly
bizarre.

This view from
my Times Square hotel room
is a striking contrast
to the open space
my eyes have grown
so happy with
in adopted California.

Yes,
Manhattan was my home
for my first 21 years,
so I am fascinated by
the mix of complicated emotions
each time
I navigate the city
as a wide-eyed tourist.

I mean
the streets are the same, but
the occupants have been
replaced—
and when I return
in a few months
this will again
be so.

Maybe one needs to be
present
to watch change
occur
in order
to take possession
of it.

Yet there is much here
that makes me smile;
for I am at home
and away
at once.


Alex Shapiro January 2006