love without Love

[Yonah Jeong]

In Manhattan, we learn
just how many shadows there are in life
I learn
how superficial kindness and smiles
rule the streets
and dominate the office
I am learning this every day
I am learning through fear
that silence in the elevator
is the height of politeness
Why there is no weather of love here
why the street trees, caressed
by warm sunlight and breeze
have vanished
and why black smoke from exhaust
dances like fog—
and why, when I watch that dance, cheer
and flash a cold smile
I seem to be enjoying it—
I am learning all this
while paying the price of my life
To the woman I meet
to the elderly person I meet
to the child I meet—
to everyone I meet, I must not show
the crime of poverty
but rather poverty itself
This is the ironclad rule of this island
and I, trapped on this island
am upholding this iron law
Van Gogh, Dostoevsky, and Franz Kafka—
(That Person I Can't Talk About)
they, too, loved their cities so deeply
Now, I too must learn
love—not mere courtesy
Those I have never met said
“No love can be love on this island.”
This sorrow keeps me from leaving this island
This sorrow makes me love this island
Even if our tears are sucked into that sewer
we, too, must love just as they did
I long for that warm, gentle water
Without a second thought
I used to cup it in both hands and drink—
isn’t that water of love
overflowing over there?
The water has turned to wine
and in this city, this island—Manhattan—
where love is all that’s needed, not mere etiquette
it’s beckoning from afar
telling us not to leave
holding us back.