A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature with over 20,000 daily subscribers and over 8,000 archived posts.
We are all just walking each other home.
Ram Dass
.
I hadn’t taken the subway in fifty years, not since
I was an undergraduate, and I was nervous.
Back then, it was hard to navigate, as graffiti and peace
signs covered up the maps. But a friend from Queens
wanted to meet for lunch, so I took a deep breath
and set out, clutching the email she’d sent with directions.
Of course, now the maps are electronic, not readily
broken, and easy to read. But her station was confusing,
a maze of underground passages, and she’d warned me
I’d have to walk some distance if I went up the wrong
stairs. So I stood there, trying to align her text, match
her words to the nearby stores. An elderly East Asian
woman asked, You lost? She snatched the papers
from my hand. Okay. Follow me. Wielding her cane
like a weapon, she pushed pedestrians out of the way,
held it up like a banner as we crossed against the light.
She pointed out the “good” fruit stands, wagged her finger
at the “bad” ones, ignored the storefronts with elaborate
gold jewelry. She was my Italian grandmother, in a different skin.
When we reached my destination, she gave me back my papers.
Turn here. Friend lives there. And when I turned to thank her,
she was gone. Above, in the stunted city trees: the wind through
the leaves, the sound of rustling wings.
From Slow Wreckage by Barbara Crooker (Grayson, 2024). Included in Vox Populi by permission of the author.
Barbara Crooker is the author of twelve chapbooks and ten full-length books of poetry. Her many awards include the WB Yeats Society of New York Award, the Thomas Merton Poetry of the Sacred Award, and three Pennsylvania Council fellowships in literature.

Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.
Lovely poem, a tribute such as the ones on NPR’s “Unsung Heroes” feature in which a people record a brief story about a someone, usually a stranger, who helped them out in a time of need, be it in a minor or major key.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much, Luray!
LikeLiked by 1 person
You just can’t go wrong with a Barbara Crooker poem. This poem brought back memories of how kind New Yorkers can be.
LikeLiked by 3 people
so glad you love Barbara Crooker’s poems as much as I do, Charlie!
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s one of the aspects of poetry I so love: a moment frozen in time, perfectly narrated, delightfully told — so well it becomes part of our memory too.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Always a pleasure to read a Barbara Crooker poem.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Charlie!
Thanks, Lauranne!
Thanks, Donna!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Evocative and poignant. I could see every move: the confusion, the Good Samaritan underground and then above, with stunted trees and bird wings to finish their mutual journey. Thanks so much.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks so much, James!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Superb! As always.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love the subtle lyrics of Barbara Crooker.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
loved this poem. Thanks Barbara; you’ve done it again. I’ll be looking for your book.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Kathleen! I’m not doing many readings these days, so I appreciate ways to get this book into the hands of readers!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Fabulous! I had a similar experience in the NY underground years ago, and I am still grateful.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Rose Mary! The poem creates something universal out of a very specific event.
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Rosemary!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Love this. It echoed a memory of an English woman in London who took charge to assist my husband and me when I was pregnant with my first child 45 years ago.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Barbara. Lovely that you had an experience like this, too!
LikeLiked by 2 people