Boston, circa 1975
Dankness of the parking garage.
First level always, because
my father liked to be early.
Gasoline, oil stains, July heat,
foreshadowing of mussels
and beheaded fish coming in quickly
through concrete columns.
Excitement welling like tears,
I am eager for fruit bins and pinwheels.
Statues of saints, umber cakes and biscotti.
Old women calling from open windows,
and men with slicked back hair
singing in the streets.
I don’t know what they are saying.
Or why some of them wear chains.
But I know it is my heritage.
And oh, to be present again.
Even if only in memory.
-Katherine Gotthardt
Featured Image: Andrew Morang, 1969