as i ride around city park
Moira Wood
photo credit: Moira Wood
as i ride around city park...
a couple poses in front of the 300 sign
i wonder how many of their ancestors are in that number
and if their children will experience that same pride
their masks match their shoes
as if in fashionable protest that a virus will not dim their shine
a family of four work synchronously
to propel their swan-shaped paddle boat around big lake
the parents attempt to ignore the raucous bickering of their children in the back
i remember my own siblings' battles in the back seat
enough to capsize a swan boat, surely
i come upon a man jogging
his shirt drenched through
his pace not much more than an amble
but still jogging, never walking
i lament having to pass him
wishing instead that i was there with signs, applauding his effort
that in spite of it all
he keeps moving
i arrive at the part of the road with the massive pothole
i have to be strategic because it is on a downward slope
have to be sure no one is trying to pass me on the left
have to be sure that no one is coming up from the opposite side
so much energy devoted to my futile attempts at avoiding a flat
in a city that once overflowed with life
music that poured into the streets with the hurricanes
both cataclysmic and alcoholic
i find solace in the bit of life i find teeming in city park
it is not as technicolor as it once was,
more muted now
but still people grasp at the small things
the gifts of this city
and the people that it holds
reminding me
that even amid and racial unrest and viral pandemic
there is still nowhere else i would rather be
i look up to appreciate the spanish moss floating on the breeze
i am always surprised by how struck i am by its beauty
shrouded in mystique
transfixed
transcended
and then i remember
and i am ashamed i ever forgot
that once,
too
men
hung
from
these
limbs
Moira Wood is a medical student in New Orleans. She identifies as forever learner, and is constantly trying to discover how to be a better human.