Boston is not our home, but our sisters
live there. Our sisters' boyfriends live
there too. The former loves we knew
are down the street, those wet-mouthed
boys and girls we kissed on Commonwealth
wait on corners with cold faces.
Kin, made of shared blood
and shared necessity, are creating
new life in the city. From within.
With one another. We are visitors
but our people are not. The city
has adopted them, like it always has.
Boston is not our home, but our mail
gets lost there sometimes. Traveling
by train or by bender, we look
to be welcomed by the ghosts
we left in the backyard of our
neighboring town. We want to have
a drink with you soon, Boston.
You're the friend we've had
since childhood. We don't always
think the same, but we all want
the same thing now. To get back
to the sweet closeness of when
we all felt safe. The soft where
that gives New England its heart.
