Spring / One
The house still asleep. On a pillow, her black hair
Tangled as seaweed.
How will you know when others
Rise to shadow the sidewalk?
*
Last flakes, slight shadows,
Streak past the kitchen window
To wipe out the sky.
March has swept the streets, but for
This face mask: smudged, torn blossom.
*
On a U.S. map, The pale pink smudges swell up.
The fever aches, spikes.
You forget to sleep. Sleep stalls.
How to witness from afar?
*
What's there to witness: The sun's last rays burn a hole
In the ocean's swell.
Along the harbor, joggers— Spaced out as beads—lug their Labs.
Space-time swells, balloons.
Sun-bleached streets, their emptiness,
Sting the eyes: no one.
As a 19th-century Tintype reveals transient ghosts.
*
We are ghosts, transients,
Overwhelmed by memory.
We are refugees.
In his drive, a guy unloads
12-packs from his Range Rover.
*
How can we unload These remnants? Along the Charles,
The headlights' bright beads,
The orange flares of skyscrapers
Doubling in the dark current.
*
Our days have doubled:
Before/After, Then and Now.
Out on Plum Island,
A string of hikers heads out
Into the bright emptiness.
Here's the Great Empty:
Terminals, hotel lobbies,
Train stations, plazas.
Under ashen skies, this rain. Down Boylston, a fierce wind whips.
*
A lifetime ago, Scraps of paper, police tape—
Boylston's utter hush.
The whole city holds its breath.
Forsythias spark, explode.
[reprinted with permission from https://www.garyduehr.com/poetry]