Children's Park, South Bronx

I


There is a city,
where the tenements,
like mountains,
dominate the land and
claw at heaven, and

where the streets,
like rivers,
run black brown yellow and
swirl with life and death and

where the children,
like butterflies,
float on shy wings and
then falter or lie crushed and broken and

There is a valley
where the tenement
mountains
loom dark and angry and
shoulder aside the poisonous sky and

where the street
rivers
gather in a backwater eddy and
deposit their burdens of trash and treasure and

where the children
butterflies
struggle for light and warmth
at the feet of beasts and monsters.


II


A once-upon-a-time garden grew in this valley,
and a tree, where bears
(soft and small)
climbed
dangled
smiled;

Smiled upon butterflies and beasts and monsters
and gave love
and happily-ever-after promises
and took nothing
but rain
and snow
and wind
and (sometimes) sun.


III


The soft, small bears watched and smiled:
(The butterflies
bludgeon the darkness with delicate beauty;
see only sparkling waters and dancing leaves
and God;
and chide the grim mountains with crystal laughter.

And then
one day
their sparkling eyes darken
and their dancing wings are stilled
and their feet are chained to the mountains
and they see another god
and their beauty is forever scarred).

The climbing bears watched and smiled:
(The beasts
were once butterflies
until they saw the scowling mountains
and torn sky
and fouled rivers
and turned to the monsters
for help
and gave up freedom to gain
escape.

And now
they shuffle and creep
with torn wings
to the feet of the monsters
who bring them a god
of slavery).

The dangling bears watched and smiled:
(The monsters
were once beasts
were once butterflies
until the slavegod told them that
slow, hazy death?
vein-burning death?
sweet, heart-crushing, brain-popping death?
would bring them gold
and free them from the valley
river
mountains.

And then
the god of slavery
and lies
ripped their wings off completely and
sent them in chains
to sell death
to the beasts).

And all the time the
soft, small
climbing
dangling
bears
smiled as they watched,
for they saw the beasts and the monsters
taking care not to hurt the butterflies,
and they knew that the beasts and the monsters
were still butterflies
somewhere
heart-deep
soul-deep.


IV


There is a city . . . .
There is a valley . . . .
There are mountains and rivers . . . .

But the once-upon-a-time garden has been taken away,
along with the tree
and the soft, small bears,
and the happily-ever-after promises.

But the monsters are still there,
and the beasts,
and the butterflies;

And the god of slavery and lies is still there
with his promises
and chains.

And another God is still there, too,
heart-deep
soul-deep.

If only the monsters and beasts would look
with sparkling butterfly eyes,
they might find their wings once again.


Copyright ?2001 by Stephen M. Larson