written by Domenic
The job was something he had to be up really early for. In the winter the sun was just rising when he went to work. In January, when the air was cold and crisp and his hands would get dry, he would be getting to work as the first rays of the new sun were peaking over all the crap of the South Bronx. Over the highways and the garbage a beautiful orange and red glow would be on the horizon. There is something so serene of that time of the morning.
Seeing that sun in front of him as he walked over the 3rd avenue Bridge towards the stairwell down into the construction site always made him happy. It was like he was seeing the beginning of a new era opening just before his eyes. Behind him there were the remnants of the previous day, still dark and gloomy.
The walk from the subway on 125th Street and Lexington to the Third Avenue Bridge , at dawn, was an experience in itself. In the winter it was still dark out at 6:45am when he’d be doing this little trek but also very cold. Not many people, save the crackheads and the Teach for America teachers going to their jobs at an elementary school on 128th street, were out. In the early spring and late fall, however, when it was dark out at 6:45am but not too cold, he would stumble upon some strange happenings on this daily walk.
As I walk over the bridge
Climbing over the Harlem River Drive
I peer out over the horizon to the east
Over the factories
Over the public housing, the roads, the cars, the Harlem River.
I turn my head in that direction and over the South Bronx
comes a yellow blue orange haze
Floating over the river and up into the clouds
Behind me lays darkness
Things that have burned out.
That are now lost
In front is what lays ahead
Things that are about to spark.
Things that have sparked.
They are aflame with life and lust
and are shining brightly up into the early morning sky.
The orange and red streaks up towards the heavens get brighter and brighter
Blinking lights on the Triboro
I exhale and my breath rises in front of me and then passes behind.
The air is crisp
I open the cold lock at the gate, catch one last glimpse of the horizon
and walk down the stairs...
The job was something he had to be up really early for. In the winter the sun was just rising when he went to work. In January, when the air was cold and crisp and his hands would get dry, he would be getting to work as the first rays of the new sun were peaking over all the crap of the South Bronx. Over the highways and the garbage a beautiful orange and red glow would be on the horizon. There is something so serene of that time of the morning.
Seeing that sun in front of him as he walked over the 3rd avenue Bridge towards the stairwell down into the construction site always made him happy. It was like he was seeing the beginning of a new era opening just before his eyes. Behind him there were the remnants of the previous day, still dark and gloomy.
The walk from the subway on 125th Street and Lexington to the Third Avenue Bridge , at dawn, was an experience in itself. In the winter it was still dark out at 6:45am when he’d be doing this little trek but also very cold. Not many people, save the crackheads and the Teach for America teachers going to their jobs at an elementary school on 128th street, were out. In the early spring and late fall, however, when it was dark out at 6:45am but not too cold, he would stumble upon some strange happenings on this daily walk.
As I walk over the bridge
Climbing over the Harlem River Drive
I peer out over the horizon to the east
Over the factories
Over the public housing, the roads, the cars, the Harlem River.
I turn my head in that direction and over the South Bronx
comes a yellow blue orange haze
Floating over the river and up into the clouds
Behind me lays darkness
Things that have burned out.
That are now lost
In front is what lays ahead
Things that are about to spark.
Things that have sparked.
They are aflame with life and lust
and are shining brightly up into the early morning sky.
The orange and red streaks up towards the heavens get brighter and brighter
Blinking lights on the Triboro
I exhale and my breath rises in front of me and then passes behind.
The air is crisp
I open the cold lock at the gate, catch one last glimpse of the horizon
and walk down the stairs...
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