SHESHE 

                                                                                by

                                                                    Susan Green

I sang with SheShe today

At the Thirty Fourth Street subway station!

I see her there, every once in a while,

Singing in front of the escalator to the B Train.

Where they have painted the once grey pillars in pastels..

Oh, how she loves her jazz

Her voice and body moving, …

Dipping, rising,

Talking to you…     

You know, just from how she moves

That the music is inside her -     

Lifted out in the song

She started “Summertime…” 

I stood by the sidelines,  not able to leave

But the song began to filter its way up inside me    

And out my mouth

She heard.

Turned toward me

Smiled, beckoning,

Allowed me in.

And we sang -

The two of us - 

Her deep power,

And my higher voice

Trying to be with her

And do what she did with the melody,

The words, the emotions, 

How she felt it.

Sometimes we were truly together

Loving being there

I echoed her… caught up with her..

And I was permitted to let the voice carry and 

Talk with hers.

Understand each other.

We hugged, when it was over..

SheShe invited me back.

I whispered how much I learned from her.

Oh, how next time, I will hope it is again,

A song I know.

 The Purple Rat 

        Susan Kohn Green

I have seen many things on the subway;

Couples kissing,  a turtle on a leash

A cockatoo, subway dancers spinning - 

Little girls blowing bubbles - 

But when the door opened

I almost put my hand on a rat.-

A purple rat.

Well, not really purple, but lighter,

Maybe  -  lilac, 

Perched on the handle of a case carrying-

Four more - rats - 

Which I didn’t see, but were probably resplendent

In a variety of colors - 

Versus those down below on the tracks - 

Who are primarily gray.

“You poor thing”, I said

But the man in the gaucho hat assured me,

“It’s a natural dye”.

The color was well chosen, the complement of 

The orange eyes of an albino. 

His fur was soft - smooth, 

It sniffed, whiskers flickering, 

He began to crawl up my arm - trusting

Then down again.

There were obviously some people who did not appreciate Gismo

Gismo  - that was his name.

One woman flinched as the tattooed owner

Asked if she would like to hold him, 

As he held Gismo upside down

And stroked behind the purple ears,

The rat in obvious ecstasy, 

As is my poodle when I rub her tummy;

Eyes closed, almost purring.

But

A young woman pushed further into the jam-packed car

Getting as far away as possible

Spitting out, 

“That’s disgusting,” 

The rat paid no attention, 

Just sat purple-y  on the owner’s shoulder 

As they got off at Forty Second Street

Just like so many others. 

 Of course.

 On a Very Grey Day

Susan Kohn Green    

A petal of a red rose just fluttered by my kitchen window

On the seventeenth floor.

I have seen many things sail by;

From egrets and pigeons,

Billowing plastic bags-  to balloons

Which some child probably lost far below

And is crying for now, as they twist and turn,

Adrift between the buildings

And on into the sky

Oblivious to the pain of her loss. 

After all, it is a balloon.

I have seen airplanes,

A blimp, looking for all it’s worth 

Like a goldfish swimming sedately through the sky,

And helicopters - 

That, to my eye, look like mosquitoes

And sound like black flies.

Clouds, sunsets, moons - 

But never before a single petal of a red rose.

The Clock a song

Tick, tock, tick, tock .

Time is passing but

Here in the hall 

There ’s only  my ticking, 

No !  Not any more

I’m getting down off this wall ..

Hey, wobble, wobble, I can do it.. I can fall….….

WHeEE— whirrrr….. plop, plop, ….ACH!  

Aahhhh

I’m gonna see what’s beyond 

WOW! 

Here I am - about to be 

Part of the real thing - 

Yay!  Tick tick, tick, tick , It’s  happening! 

A  dog barks, then stops

At those kids down the block

She wants his balloon.  He won’t let it go!

She’s grabbing, he’s grabbing,  

It’s gone , up and  flown, 

But the kids don’t care -

Now they’re flying a drone.  

Is that what they mean by time.

Look,  a clown’s  doing tricks

And each one goes

In a blink of an eye

Then it’s over, it’s gone . 

It was just passing by.

Is that what they mean by time?

And music flows - and there it goes.

I feel like slowing with the adagio  larghetto 

But when it’s quick I make a dash and zip , 

And presto !  time seems to zip  -     But no - 

My ticking is still a boring, exacting,

Tick, tick, ticking

Pulsating  tedious  - Ratio.

So this is what it’s like to be part of it all - 

While seconds tick and hours show, 

The  raindrops drip, then sunset falls,     

 It’s time going by - never saw it , you know

Only those shadows that fell on the wall

Always knew that time passed -

How could I not, 

After all, I’m a clock

But I’m not going back to the hall

To be hung on a wall

Where all I can do is…ttktktktktktktktktktk

I wanna  tick, I wanna tock

Where time races or crawls;

Dogs bark , trees bud,   kids yell “play ball!”

Lovers fall. 

Time moves on, the game comes to an end 

And then there is more - More - More 

This is what they mean by Time - 

And I’ wanna be ,

Have to be,

Gotta be,

Going to be - 

BOING !

A part of it all. 

Copyright: susan kohn green 

Where Do Fairies live In the City - A Song

Where do fairies live in the City?

Where do Fairies live in the town?

In stories fairies always have a babbling brook

And I’ve been looking all around

I’ve been looking for the mushrooms 

Where they gather when it rains

And Queen Ann’s Lace from which they make their gowns

Somewhere there must be 

A secret magic place

Where all the little fairies can be found

I know that fairies live in the city

I know that fairies live in the town

But I haven’t found them here on my block

And I can’t tell you where they can be found

I haven’t found a castle or a rainbow or a glen

Or seen them as they bounded underground

Somewhere there must be 

A very special place

Where just one little fairy can be found.

Hawk Among the Pigeons

What are the pigeons doing 

As they fly their circles in the air?

I see the Hawk among them 

Can he think he is one of them?

Or has he just eaten?

And feeling content to have company in his flight?

Or is he Looking for his meal,

Pretending to be one of them,

To fool them into a dance

Diving with them in the circles

And figure eights, and swoops

From the trees to the forest of the buildings

And back again.

Will there be one less of them

When the dance is done? 

I wonder if the trees,

Not having weather reports,

Know what each day will bring?

And if the buds are slipping out,

Then

“Ooh, should have stayed home! ”

And try to get back into the womb,

And the flowers who braved it a few days ago,

Been knocked to their knees,

Can recover for the real spring -

If it comes -

If summer doesn’t insinuate itself  

And take over 

Before Spring has a chance.

There are trees who have not yet released

Their greens, or  blossoms, 

For that matter -

Now were they just being smart? 

Confused?  Timid?
Did their roots know something the others didn’t?

Were there whisperings back and forth

Under the ground .. or through the bare branches?

Waiting for just the right moment

To burst. 

asking _" When? "

copyright ;  Susan Kohn Green