Poem by Ann Carhart

Photo by Bill Perrault



Recognition

Sometimes I believe
I grew up
under another sun.

A sun which
intermitently
warmed and burned and then protected
yelled and screamed and then ignored
its native daughters.

Leaving me
always able
to recognize another
when our eyes meet, hold
and go down
to the ground
on the streets of Brooklyn.

Yet it happened
once again
just last night
on Somerville Ave.

The same gleam of the eye
set of the jaw
thrust of the shoulders
battle scars

Recognition.