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Miles
Albert Goldbarth
. . . and although the Chinese police refused to allow me
into a town so near the border of Tibet,
and lifted guns to make their point, that afternoon
I played a game of pick-up basketball
my friend D’s twenty-year-old son from an internet café. Perhaps
because I’m from a certain generation and a certain unsophisticated
socioeconomic class, this casual ability to travel the planet
astonishes me: I worry how to tip in foreign currency
to saving a marriage or forging a Middle East peace treaty.
And travel is astonishing; on the weeks-long
rat-infested vomit-sour voyage in steerage
from his shtetl in the “Old World” to America,
my grandpa Louie was ordered into the sunlight once,
—with their parasols and top hats, with their monocles
vun vooman hass a green birt on her shoulder
mit a golt chain, OONT IT TALKS!“—these
were as amazing to him as the fearsome tribes of cyclops,
and the turbulent rivers of liquid gold, and the roc
that could carry an elephant back to its nest,
Herodotus swears that far-off tribes of people exist
Gobi Desert, Marco Polo heard of the spirits there, “they
call a man by his name and so lead him astray,” or
one might hear “the tramp and hum of a great
when Karl Jansky heard, for the first time, spritz
—but in time, and for billions of years—and stood there
we know now are the background radiation of the universe’s
challenging the Atlantic in a dinghy, or the sky
in a chair and 700 helium balloons . . . can we compare this
on the forty-seventh floor of the Empire State Building?
How many thousands of miles was it, when my friend Dan
where the nursing home was, that had called to say
its dim, forensic-smelling halls now held
my grandpa Louie thought, when this photo was taken
in 1958. A little old man, a barely acclimatized immigrant Yid
who’s stepped from some joke or textbook example, more
at home with a samovar and a Torah and a seder cup
than anything from the Buy-4-Less. I’m ten,
who’s tossed a basketball into the air (and into
the frame), and yelled “Hey, catch!” so that
much less held, such an object—instinctively grabs it
this globe of an alien world.
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