by Richard Gomes

Created on: July 26, 2008

We walked the long streets between the Avenues,
From the 50th Street subway, to Radio City.
The Easter Show.

Twice a year, on Christmas and Easter,
It was our tradition, dressed in our finest
We went to town.

149th waiting for the 6.
Change at 125th for the express to 42nd,
The shuttle then the 1, uptown one stop.

We held hands, you bought gum.
Mother and son in the morning sea of commuters,

We had breakfast at the Automat.

After the show we walked.
Lunch at Rockefeller Center, then cross town.
59th and Lex, Bloomies and Alexander's.

You pointed out the buildings, where you'd worked
That's Bill Closter's, I wonder how Dorothy is?'
Benton and Bowles, and 666.

You'd given up your career by then and worked as a temp.
I could tell somehow that you missed running the show,
But you never let on. You'd done it for us.

I wish I'd understood back then,
The silent scream behind your tastefully mascaraed eyes
The frustration of your might have beens.

Instead we stopped going to the Easter Show.
You didn't like leaving the house anymore,
And I became a stranger

We were not your life.
Though I wish it could have been different,
We'd spread our wings.

You were alone with Dad now
Without dream or hope or mission,
You cleaned.

Did you ever love us?
I hope so, but I'll never know
Still there are the fond memories of the Easter Show.

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