Poetry & Prose

Memorial Drive

High up, swigging

bottles we stole from that bar off Xingguo Road spilling from

at least 100 stories, tall

tales of love

and loss

and opportunity

With our legs dangling over the edge, the city,

an endless fabric of a sequin shawl sprawled

out far beneath our feet

As if the world was shaken and all the constellations fell to the ground,

As if we were shaken and out poured some liquid reminiscent

of gin sparkling and

younger dreams.


Cambridge, here, does not glitter at night.


There’s a plaque in Central Square next to a sewer that says:



Drains to Charles River.


But every time I pass I misread it as DON’T JUMP


Peripheral gleam on a dim street.


Memorial Drive is a poignant walk at night.

The Boston side has fallen face first into the water



Someone once told me to “conquer inanimate objects” but

how when I can’t even grasp them

I rush to the edge

Halt sharp

and sway before the black

water and daffodils.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *