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*** At Age Seventeen ***

At 17, the wooden heels of my boots echoed
My audacious immaturity along my entire way 
    exploring
Manhattan’s south-end area.  Its long blocks, I routed 
For the reason of simply seeing.

In the route I took through that then unknown section,
My young lack of any preparation was foolishly profound,
Although during all that afternoon, I passed only huge,
Blackened windows; met only vacant streets, endless concrete.

Except for the resounding echoes of my clop-clopping
Heels going on, on, so starkly conspicuous; my pacing 
Possibly — dangerous — sourrounded by mal-intents; 
   hearing no sirens, no horns…Just the ominous sounds 
Of my own very isolating heels strikind the ground
    in an otherwise quiet, misplaced in any city’s midst.

My mother had often told me, “There’s safety in numbers.”  
    I heard myself grumbling, “Nothing!  So empty 
        here in a city of millions!”
In the face of that strange, puzzling reality, 
I felt lost and uneasy,  so that those few hours yet remain
    —  more than fifty years later — vividly
In memory, often repeating, leaping up to recount for me
    some lessons of faith and humility.

The loss of all sense of place in the face 
Of the echoes and the fear, and, too, the hidden, 
    extraordinary city’s separated, absent populace…so used 
In the long-lasting lesson my conscience speaks patiently,
“Poor girl.  Give thanks!  You went so far only
    Due to God’s always interceeding way embracing you.”


  -—————————————————————————————————————————
(c) 1/30/23 sally young eslinger
Thanks be to God…

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