I Found my Name Carved Into the Concrete_-_

Brooklyn Heights, April 15th, 2016
She sat across from me at the cafe. She looked like she was writing a poem. I asked. She said that she gets inspired by her photographs, so she pulled one up and started writing. Before she returned the notebook, she showed me the image on her laptop. There were two words scratched into the pavement. I couldn’t make it out, but I thought for a second that it was the name of my sister. “What does it say?” “Julie Ann” “That’s the name of my sister.” “That’s my name too,” she said. Many weird things have happened over the course of this project. One poet claimed that I have a “forehead door.” I am sure that I do, and that others do too. Julie Ann posts her work here. She’s a full time poet, formerly a teacher.

I found my name
carved into the concrete
holding the slate paving stones
together on Bergen Street
I didn’t think I had
such a common name
but then I remembered
that what ever happens to me
has happened here in New York
so many times
our lives are but cyclical
repetitions of those mythic stories
we loved as children
each of us still holding on
to the hubris that we are

Read a poem by Sarah C.

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