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      August 13, 2015Katherine Barrett SwettCentral Park Zoo, 1970

      Back in the old zoo—the place the child
      of New York’s Parks commissioner once called
      Sing-Sing for beasts, where elephants and wild
      cats, bears and rhinos were all jailed,
      sliced into strips of pacing fur, the shriek
      and stink of monkeys everywhere, a mess—
      it was not pastoral or picturesque,
      and unprotected by a wilderness,
      forced to face a hungry, hot stare,
      we felt them close and thought, we are like this,
      monkeys fighting, lions with twitching haunches,
      their paunches swinging; and while we ate our lunches,
      children circled round the chipped green benches,
      taunting each other, “you belong in there.”

      from #48 - Summer 2015

      Katherine Barrett Swett

      “I have lived in New York City for my entire life. I was born in the same hospital where my children were born and teach at the same school where I was a student. These facts make me that rare creature, a provincial New Yorker. I like to write about the intimate aspects of New York life, not about ambition or skyscrapers, but about caged animals, anonymous ailanthus trees, obscure museums. To someone like me, New York can seem as small, as intimate and as unexpected as a brief poem. How do you make sense of chaos? You divide it into lines, what the city fathers called a grid plan.”

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