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
Quincy Market (a draft)
Quincy Market (a draft)
Quincy Market (a draft)
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