Cityscapes

I have begun to feel nostalgia for the present but not quite a desire to remain in this city.

It’s a nostalgia for this state that I’m in, and an anticipation, or fear, that soon I will change.

Fifty-­‐six years ago my father was born here and lived in a house on East 5th St. It’s not far from my apartment, about ten blocks.

My grandparents went to Erasmus Hall High, right around the corner.

And without any awareness when I made the decision, I came here in search of my past.

Remnants of that era still linger in the yarmulkes that march down Ocean Parkway, Friday evening at 6.

But for the most part the Flatbush dialect has evolved into tinges of Patois and Creole.

The old Jewish bakeries are now Jamaican patty stands.

And my five-­‐year-­‐old father has been replaced by a 21 year old poet.

It’s funny the kinds of thoughts you can have in a Dunkin’ Donuts at 7 am.

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