I’m not moving across the river . . .
Because in New Jersey there are supermarkets the size of football fields
red kale and red cabbage
yellow peppers and yellow tomatoes
white eggplant and white onions
I buy papadoms, humus, smoked carp, kimchi, and carrot cake at 3 a.m.
I know county roads end to end
I know all the exits on the twelve lane turnpike
I know the white water rapids of the Delaware
and the rocks that rise along the Hudson
I grew up in a lawn and shoebox development
walked in the woods
farmed milkweed and skunk cabbage
tore bark chips from torsos of ancient sycamores
played stickball in the streets
sold lemonade from our driveway
I have memorized the floorplans of shopping malls
laid out like cathedrals
I can recite diner menus chapter and verse
like Bible Belters cite scripture
I recite poetry in a Romanesque Revival stone structure
When I was little, that structure was the library
that lent me Little Women and Leaves of Grass
When Walt Whitman was little,
his dad boarded up the family farmhouse doors,
packed up 11 chairs, 10 pots and 9 children, and
his mom blew bye-bye kisses to their Long Island birthplace
But, eventually, the 5 boroughs could not contain the budding bard
he roved in rolled-up shirt sleeves
singing of himself, carrying a frayed letter from
Ralph Waldo in his pocket——
and still he was not famous
But, when he moved to New Jersey
the whole world found him
the American voice was born
In Camden, he lost his despair
died cheerful and cherished
found an ear to fit his voice
planted seeds for succeeding generations of
renowned poets who grow on garden state ground
like Iowa grows corn and Idaho potatoes
A midwesterner told me it was criminal to say
Palisades in a poem
the word was already spoken for,
forever wed to a doctor from Rutherford
But, I’m a Jersey girl
Palisades is mine too
Palisades is a park from my child world
my first rollercoaster
a funhouse slide and
the mirror maze where
a strange man’s hands
taught me terror
Palisades is a parkway up the Hudson
the view from the river
the prettiest sight from Manhattan
Palisades is where you hope to own a balconied terrace
sprain ankles hiking
graffiti clad cliffs
get a ticket driving too fast
Palisades is the place the radio sang,
“You’ll have fun,
so come on over”
Paterson is another poetic crime, but Ginsberg managed to get over it
or under it, drink kiddish and say kaddish
And Leroi Jones changed his name, but not his NJ address
And if Einstein was smart enough to park his bicycle in Palmer Square
And if it was fine enough for
Philip Freneau, Phillip Roth, and Patti Smith
Dorothy Parker, Delmore Schwartz, and Joyce Carol Oates
Toni Morrison, Adrienne Rich, and Alicia Ostriker
Stephen Crane, Washington Irving, and Lou Reed
T.S. Elliot’s cocktail party and Wallace Steven’s shirts
Then it’s just fine that I reside John Ciardi’s “Brainy Borough”
a few blocks from the church at Oak and Chestnut
where Joyce Kilmer was wed and
Mark Twain and Ogden Nash heard prayers
a few miles from the tower where Thomas Alva turned on the lights
So I say Paterson Paterson Paterson
Paterson William Carlos Williams Paterson
Paterson is falling water
mills on the Passaic
Paterson is my Aunt’s table where
I learned to shell sweet peas
on the day my sister was born
Paterson is mine too
I reclaim my shared possessions
Paterson Palisades Princeton
Paramus Pennsauken Piscataway
Newark Newton New Providence
Camden Caldwell Cape May
Dayton Dunellen Denville
Succassunna South Orange South Plainfield
South Amboy South Brunswick Sayreville
Somerville Somerset Summit
Avenel Avalon Atlantic City
I celebrate my birthstate
Burlington Bergenfield Bridgewater
Franklin Frenchtown Freehold
Morristown Metuchen Madison
Middlesex Middletown Middlebush
Manalapan Manasquan Matawan
Wallington Washington Watchung
Edison Englishtown Eatontown
Garwood Garfield Glen Gardner
Vernon Ventnor Verona
Howell Holmdel Hopewell
I revel in my roost
Roselle Roseland Roosevelt
Ocean Old Bridge Oldwick
Teaneck Trenton Tenafly
Union Upton Upper Montclair
Iselin Irvington Island Heights
Jersey City Jefferson Jackson
Kenilworth Keansburg Keasby
Quakerbridge Quakertown Quarryville
Yardville Yorktown Yellow Frame
I sing this Paterson pattersong
X marks my spot from Aberdeen to Zarapeth
from Avon to Zion
I extol
I exhort
I exclaim:
Poets come home, exit your
5 borough
4 flight walk-up
3 locks on each door
2 on each barred window
1 bedroom security mad
never-feel-at “home”
Steal your own car for a change
Steer the Pulaski Skyway’s tired rippling sinews——
that obstacle course caressing Newark
Steer your wheels into my unlocked garage
Steal the key from under the front porch mat
Take a metroliner to Metropark
Grab a current on the inter-coastal waterway
Get over on the Goethals
or the White Horse Pike
or the Black Horse Pike
or the Atlantic City Expressway
Wave goodbye to the last grate on the Ben Franklin Bridge
Make your own revolution——stand in a boat and cross the Delaware
Eat the peaches, tomatoes, and squash
cranberries, blueberries, and eggs
Hear mosquitoes buzz in the swamps
Wake with lawn mower smells
Shovel snow, ski, swim
Contemplate the eerie pink pigments in the sky
Count tractors, trailers, and trucks
Change from the Knicks to the Nets
the Jets and the Giants
St. Patrick to St. Francis
Find soul and solace like Walt Whitman
who died here one hundred years ago
I have a copy of Leaves of Grass by my New Jersey bedside
a wet red wheelbarrow leaning on the white chicken-wire fence
a note about missing plums on the refrigerator door
It says Garden State on my license plates
And, oh yes (say yes)——
The Palisades are in New Jersey
and so am I
Come on over.