Manhattan slows down. September
Sunday,
last ice cream truck on the streets of
SoHo, warm days still, a faint breeze maybe,
gentle sun. Quiet.
I cross Broadway, going west. The cars halt with
a subdued screech. Mind roams still. Last night there
was an explosion; a small fire and shrapnel.
The woman in the street with her coffee in one hand,
cigarette in the other, stops in the middle of a pull.
12:49pm.
I cross Broadway, going west. Cars halt with
a screech. Roams.
The motionlessness spreads like a filter until it hits
The halal guy on the corner
wraps up a purchase with
urgency, thank you, see you, takes
off his shoes, careful it's a ritual
steps
away from the cart on the sidewalk where he
sells some dangerous chicken over rice and onto
a piece of tin foil. Late - but only a bit late.
Away from the stream of human traffic.
He reverently bows, whispers. I know
he is facing
the Ka'aba.
A prayer.
Manhattan slows down. 12:49pm, in the middle of a pull.
I stop.
The middle of a rush, a pull. I pause.
For the first time in months, I pause.
My heart slows down.
Manhattan slows
down.
Last night there was shrapnel, fires. Today
all there is
is the peace that we have learned
to cultivate.
