LindaAnn Lo Schiavo

Our first apartment bordered ugly Hell´s
Kitchen, a place for hanging your head out
The window, yelling for "police, police!"

The back door was my savior, leading me
To jade insertions of a picket fence
That hid a missing piece of Paradise,
Green growing something quite unlike itself.

Here: rose aroma heavy in blue air,
Pink heliotrope lovely as a laugh,
Mature hydrangeas, honey in their cheeks,
Green eyefuls powering up two lives when
The wormy world of midtown leaves the mind
Without its moorings. Secret is our yard,
And lion-lit for us alone, as bold
As some unanswered prayers — — survivor´s way.
When he complains — — "Always outdoors!" he´ll say,
"Bent, knees-down!" — — I plead debts I owe the day.