poco a poco
former anchor and bolt factory
in the sketchiest part of lower,
lower down-town
toxic dump, piled high with trash
along the polluted Platte
all my idealistic eyes saw
was a renaissance arts incubator
visions of thriving creativity touching thousands
dreams forged in tumultuous emergence
‘whose flame is the imprisoned lightening’*
pulling rusted nails atop ladders
through the melting heat of summer
perennially terrified of heights
in your dark interior
smelling of oil and decay
wrenching a back long degraded by poverty
amabile
an idea worth engaging
after the ash of terrorism
filled our lungs with suffering
still blind to ideology’s deadlier side
abandoned building an ever present
reminder of horrors
I’d swing in the shadows
absorbing fear and poison
fantasizing about healing through art
about becoming the ‘Mother of Exiles’*
others escaped in cocaine, marijuana, and wine stupors
(they frightened me more than the terrorists)
but I wanted to feel and still act
weep on the dusty, frigid concrete
daring myself to stay
replaying little match girl scenes from my childhood
a capriccio
an ungainly thing, not quite coming together
I began to love you; the neighbors were a bit leery
tottering ever on the brink of survival
dumpster diving for office furniture
roaming commercial spaces
surreal landscapes of the impoverished
reaching out to those with even less
that underbelly of America
she kept smashing plates to build collages
floors soaked with industrial grime
they put up a slide on the stairs
lending to the murderous carnival atmosphere
something had to be done
appassionato
savior complex in overdrive
overzealous cheerleader
my overachieving rocket roared
your time arrived as others saw your worth
sacrifices of body and mind to your cause
(my left arm still aches all the time)
hundreds came together
scoured for every penny
exploited every opportunity
the revolution received matching grants from the crown
to feed you, cradle you so that one day
you could proclaim:
‘Give me your tired, your poor,
your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
the wretched refuse of your teeming shore’*
allargando con brio
you gained strength as your influence spread
became the magnanimous gift of the community
inspiring others to acts of expression and reclamation
‘beacon-hand glows world-wide welcome
send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door’*
affecting change, inspiring emotion
pesante macando
like the Eames film portraying
America to Moscow
at the height of the Cold War
it was propaganda
sotto voce
as the shroud is placed
upon your remains
we bow our heads,
at least it was honest
*Lines from ‘The New Colossus’ by Emma Lazarus, 1883 which is inscribed on a plaque at the Statue of Liberty in NYC.
Personal Note: After the shock of 9/11 I came together with many talented, intelligent, and compassionate artists to build a community arts center that provided some 85,000 people with art therapy, arts instruction, and exhibition opportunities. I spent 7 years of my life working to make the organization successful. Four years ago I left as the Executive Director confident that I had nurtured, grown, and provided for her so she’d continue to flourish. This week I found out they will be closing their doors, ending almost 11 years of programming for historically underserved populations. A devastating blow.
Chromapoetica 
whew…your note at the end put this in perspective all the more…great write otherwise but it added emotion to it was well…i am sorry…ugh…this kinda pisses me off…i dont know the story as to why it is closing but…i know in our area the arts is def being sidelined and cut in school as impractical…i think there is so much benefit though personally engaging other areas of the mind creatively…and it is great therapy…
Thanks Brian, I couldn’t write this from the deeply emotional view point today, when I tried I ended up crying for half an hour. Instead I used Lazarus’ poem and the Elegy/musical terms as my structure to get enough distance to write. The arts are undervalued everywhere it seems, though there’s documentation clearly outlining its benefits, especially when it comes to therapy. I was still writing grants, donating time and money for a couple years after I left but then it seems they had leadership issues and I was out of the loop. All I know right now is that it was a beautiful dream that was a reality for over a decade and I need to focus on all the good it did and less on the rocky beginning and sudden ending.
HI Anna, I’m so sorry about this (the reality). The poem has a lovely ebb and flow and narrative quality. I like poems with stories, and this one tells one with a great deal of particular detail and crammed emotional punch. The musical notations breaks are clever and useful. K.
Thank you for your empathy and for reading this piece I cobbled together for NaPoWriMo. I’m glad the notation breaks worked for you as I really liked them in the context of an elegy.
I feel your lost.
Where I am, art is considered unimportant. Government bodies are promoting it a lot, but it’s generally viewed as inaccessible or useless.
The poem reads like a lament to me, something that was given, with such promise and that could’ve open hearts and minds, and then missed.
Yes, I suppose why we poets are congregating here on the internet where we can find someone else that understands the power of art. Thank you.
Anna, so sorry to hear about the center closing down. That’s harsh news for sure. Powerful piece here. Love the individual titles for each section, very nicely done. appasionato I like a lot. And the ending, is pretty much perfect. Great write. Thanks
Me too, I appreciate your empathy, the experience defined my late 20s to mid 30s. It fulfilled many of my goals, positively impacted thousands, and was a beautiful dream, even with all its flaws. I enjoyed using the music terms and felt for a personal piece I’d satisfy myself first. Thanks so much for the feedback.
This is a fabulous poem, weaving the personal in with both history and ideology, and it makes me so sad to think that art has become something superfluous, when it should be just the opposite, art is what drives humanity to better itself.
I am also sorry for your personal loss here, watching something you worked so hard to create falter and fail is so difficult. But, yes, I think the best thing to do is focus on all the good that it, and you, brought to this world.
Thank you Kelly, I’m glad that the history and ideology shines through. Often in personal pieces I struggle with finding a way to put enough of myself into them but not so much there isn’t room for something bigger, space for the reader to relate. As to the personal loss, it hit me hard and I’ll be recovering for a while. I so appreciate your empathy.