recovering notes from the deep, part 16

it's a little less than a mile

from the bottom of buena vista street
to the top
where it meets perrysville avenue

a short distance

that pretty much follows
a very roundabout
fifty-year-plus journey

about halfway up

it becomes cobblestones
and steep
and it's right about there
that i remember
as a fourteen-year-old
climbing out from the third floor window
& sitting out on the flat roof
sometimes with a guitar
always with the heat of the summer
making the valley quiver in the distance
dream-like

my dad & i lived in the single room attic

big enough for us
even with the clothes rack dividing
the living room-kitchen from
the beds

a social worker came one day

and asked us if this was a suitable place
for doing homework
'cause she was interested in me
getting into the first upward bound program
for under-achievers
and we said
yes
it was a quiet enough place
and i wanted to try it

so the summer became

a dorm room at carnegie tech
& streetcar trips to parts of pittsburgh
i never imagined

during the fine arts portion

of upward bound
i learned how to meditate
and breathe
lying flat on my back
unraveling all the angst
stored in an adolescent mind

and it seemed every student

was having this kind
of transformation

when i graduated high school

i decided to move out
& get my own attic apartment
and wouldn't you know
this move was a whole quarter-mile
to a bluff off of buena vista street
called geranium

i ended up with roommates

a lot of partying
marginal jobs
refusing army induction
political activism
drifting in & out of commitments
and relationships
and just shiftless enough
to walk away from
a scholarship at pitt
though one of my roommates
did make progress
on his goddard college degree
while working at
j & L steel


but of course all of this
was somewhat irrelevant
since the revolution
was on its way
anyway

so where did all of this bring me

from a third floor window and roof
in the middle of buena vista street
to new neighborhoods
     mountains & forests      
     canyons & oceans
where even deserts can be sanctuaries
where i faithfully emote
between forgotten words
     as the sun is opening
     from gray to blue
     and only now
     the valley brings vision

--- e b bortz