Another One for the First City I Loved

Swan boats
Arthur Fiedler
Logan Sumner Tunnel
The Phoenix Newbury Comics
Fenway

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This solstice is
a cul-de-sac.

I don’t mind losing
my way—no longer ten
miles north of Boston
wondering how houses
and whole streets
can disappear. It only gets lighter
from here, and there’s always
a way out

at that least
likely radius.

Our Saudade

It revolved around Boston,
the Cape, Amherst, the Vineyard, Woburn,
an entire state—

our common ground. You—
with your accent and clearly delineated roots. Me—
with a brief history,

my mother’s story, and an incurable longing
no word in English
could contain. All of our plotting

and heightened talk went nowhere beyond
imagination. Now that I know

you are back home, I’ll fly

East so we can finally spend a moment
together on this sacred turf. You—

ashes. Me—alive
more than ever, ready to be enough
for the both of us.

Been Half a Year

without jumping through smoke
rings to find a trap
door you hint may lead
to solace. I imagine dropping

into a room filled with easy
breathing naked apes. I like my air
not so conditioned, like
to check those back

burners to ensure the pilot
light hasn’t died
with a summer breeze
that got too big

to ignore. Dizzy with oxygen,
I remember that boy who smashed
his fist through a glass pane

in our French door—so desperate
to escape 1969 bedroom
community ennui. One bloody wrist, a siren,

and that blue
cold stillness in his eyes. Now I could
just laugh

at these green candles
someone might ignite
if they want to.