1. |
Emma calls Julia
04:58
|
|
||
|
The tall grasses gave a brittle wave
In the winter wind
Gravel crackling beneath our feet
Your eyes were dry and sleepy
The day your father passed,
Your mother’s shoulders sank a bit
But women in your past,
Have warm steel in their eyes.
We used to glide
Between twin bridges
Singing into the wind
Singing into the wind
The songs we lofted are hung high on the line
For some other wandering child to find
2501OA34
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2. |
Julia writes to Marsha
09:45
|
|
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|
I woke to the buzzing neon sign
Outside your window
For the laundromat downstairs
And I pulled on my coat to go
Our spent cigarettes
Lay waiting on your doorstep
Left there overnight and quietly
A paltry offering made carelessly
For the nighttime gods of Bergen Street
I walked down Union to the water
To look out on Governors Island
And watch the workers at the docks
Unload the barges at the pier's end
I thought I'd let you sleep in;
I think more clearly when I'm walking.
By some small measure of grace
I'm still staying at my place on Lorraine
There's an arcade bar on Carroll now
But Sunny's hasn't changed.
I still walk down your old block
When I'm close to Cobble Hill
Counting footsteps to your door
Pretending that you life there still.
I have a smoke on your old stoop
For the nighttime gods of Bergen Street.
2603BN35
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3. |
Marsha calls Julia
05:01
|
|
||
|
I should have known something was coming,
When the bodega cats left for Park Slope
The train’s not running past Carroll,
Even though the water’s gone down.
The granny that bartends on Sundays
Was wading through three feet of water
With two velvet paintings of Mary
One tucked under each arm.
My stuffs in the old busted walk-in.
The boss wants it out of the diner by Friday.
Is your Aunt still living in Ridgewood?
Do you think she’s got space in her basement?
The granny that bartends on Sundays
Was wading through three feet of water
With two velvet paintings of Mary
One tucked under each arm.
Don’t “Julia” me.
Marsha, I know that tone.
There’s nothing for me in Odena,
I’m fine it was just another storm.
The granny that bartends on Sundays
Was wading through three feet of water
With two velvet paintings of Mary
One tucked under each arm.
2703BN36
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4. |
Julia writes to Emma
05:10
|
|
||
|
The Plant on Baltic is broken down
So crops this season are low.
I think we’ve got enough to make it through the colder months
But these days it’s hard to know.
I think of all the times we ran the tap
Just to wash the grit away
This is our legacy as children of
The age of greatest waste.
I got your message from September,
Strange to be so out-of-touch.
Perhaps the gaps in correspondence
Make it easy not to dwell so much.
On all the nights, we spent swimming,
Spilling whiskey in the woods.
Should we have seen the harder days coming?
Would it have done us any good?
I heard the bus runs, every other week.
From Jersey city to Montgomery.
I’d like you and the family
If you all still have room for me.
I think of all the times we ran the tap
Just to wash the grit away
This is our legacy as children of
The age of greatest waste.
2803BN37
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Mending Brooklyn, New York
The Wakerobin Archive is an ongoing experiment in speculative storytelling in song.
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Book 01, "We Gathered at Wakerobin Hollow" is a four hour, nine album drone folk exploration of sisterhood and climate change.
Book 02 commences in March 2020.
Mending is Kate Adams and Joshua Dumas
... more
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