Somersaulting Images

Gerald Zipper

I remember your cheeks shiny apple-red on a snowy day
our sidewalks hemmed by mountains of white
we walked down empty streets
two innocents in a muffler-wrapped world
remember tying the laces on his tiny sneakers
we sat in a hot sun on a low stoop
Broadway racketing a few steps away
his face turned to mine
a postage stamp pasted in my head
remember the smoke pouring out of the 84th Street building
fire engines hysterical
licks of flame stretching out windows
the short bundle-woman inching along the sill
her face a faded blob
she plummeted like a sparrow shot in flight
the gasps of a Greek chorus rose from the street
I remember the first apartment on 101st Street
embedding us in the creation that was Manhattan
jump-starting new worlds
I wondered if the stern elevator operator would challenge me
if we would ever fill those wide rooms
I remember the movie houses with their Saturday couples
decorous coffee houses tucked away in side streets
easy walks beside a swaggering Hudson
munching soft pretzels on slatted benches
Riverside Park fantasies of flowers spilling over
memories crowding the ceiling of my room
filling my nights with somersaulting images.