On Mother’s Day

I went out walking in the old neighborhood Look! more trees on the block forget-me-nots all around them ivy   lantana shining and geraniums in the window Twenty years ago it was believed that the roots of trees would insert themselves into gas lines then fall   poisoned   on houses and children or tap the city’s water pipes   starved for nitrogen   obstruct the sewers In those days in the afternoon I floated by ferry to Hoboken or Staten Island then pushed the babies in their carriages along the river wall   observing Manhattan See Manhattan I cried   New York! even at sunset it doesn’t shine but stands in fire   charcoal to the waist But this Sunday afternoon on Mother’s Day I walked west   and came to Hudson Street   tricolored flags were flying over old oak furniture for sale brass bedsteads   copper pots and vases by the pound from India Suddenly before my eyes   twenty-two transvestites in joyous parade stuffed pillows under their lovely gowns and entered a restaurant under a sign which said   All Pregnant Mothers Free I watched them place napkins over their bellies and accept coffee and zabaglione I am especially open to sadness and hilarity since my father died as a child one week ago in this his ninetieth year