Author Information
Concord
You are sprawling victorian mansions
turned into tenement housing
and pink champagne on the
state house lawn under the
watchful eye of the golden eagle
perched upon the dome.
You are witches wrapped in
green silk scarves and goddess
dresses by the fire light.
You are a theater once graced by
presidents padlocked and closed.
You are the three weeks and four days
that every breath in the Spring
is thick with the heady fragrance of lilacs.
You are the thrill of riding a bicycle down
a steep hill at midnight.
making wishes with Canadian pennies
in stone fountains.
You are lush green Elysian fields perfect
for picnics (and funerals)
Bleach blonde soccer moms rolling down
the streets with monster sport utility vehicles.
You are wishes made on flickering street lamps
girls yelling up to boys windows
like romeo and juliet.
You are the best apple cider in Autumn
and the putrid odor of Hall street.
rainbow hair fairy children who secretly read poetry while
eating Thai food at dawn.
You are my breathing, living entity that pulses
and glows with the changing seasons.
You are my love, my town.
on Concord
This is one of the most brilliant geographical evocations I have ever read, in over thirty-eight years of reading poetry. The balance between individual images is deftly presented, and these become, in sum, a kind of latitude and longitude of the place's soul. I don't think I could manage such a poem, so, for several reasons, I am mighty impressed by it.
Starward