Glenn G. Coats

American Jerusalem

in every corner of winter a stillness

I follow Michael around The Village. His hair is a pile of curls; a woolen poncho hangs from his shoulders. Pockets jingle with coins. Panhandlers step from the shadows like birds and Michael pauses for each one, exchanges conversation, and passes out a palmful of change.

On West Third, we stop in Bleecker Bob’s Record Store; flip through boxes of albums. Dust floats in a shaft of sunlight and the air smells like a basement. I find one that I have been looking for with a song about Manhattan. Michael takes a card from his wallet—a prayer of protection and hope. He places it on the counter. “I told you before,” the owner snarls. “I’m not interested. Now get it the hell off of there.” Michael picks up the card. Bells ring as the door opens and he steps back into the street.

next year’s seeds
in the light and dark
of a refrigerator

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About the Author

Glenn G. Coats lives with his wife, Joani, in Carolina Shores, North Carolina. His recent collections are Degrees of Acquaintance (Snapshot Press, 2019), a collection of haibun, and Furrows of Snow (Turtle Light Press, 2019), which won an honorable mention in the Haiku Society of America’s 2020 Merit Book Awards.