By Elaine Maria Upton
In this place, where ever it is,
God looks different.
I need new glasses or new ears.
God sounds different.
God says “New Yawh-k” here
and God likes Deli’s on every corner
and God does business with Pizzeria’s
on every other corner, and with names
like Caprianni and Giovannni
or Bagels and Loxs.
God does all this amid the winding roads
along the Hudson River, amid the trees
that reveal white tailed deer behind the houses.
God is multiplying in white-tailed deer
behind the houses and crossing the roads.
Here God married her cousin–Rose-velt
married Roose-e-velt, and all those folk
with money and means, like Vanderbilt
and Jones and Astor, have their names
on lavish stone gates, where God enters.
Here, God loves those gray gates.
Here God loves the curves of things, and
no road is straight.–The slaves
on the underground railroad
took to these curves in the road.
The Dutch rode up the winding river,
and spun their tales of the life
they created here in these dark hills.
Here God sees me waking at night
asking, ‘where am i?’ and God
answers in a language i cannot yet
speak, but I listen to God’s accent here,
and ask, which syllable is my name.
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