Tag Archives: Lowell

watching Lowell become me

the heron knows the blues
better than I do, better than you do
better than any fool-poet
winging poems like prayers
along the riverbank

the heron knows the blues
like the beat, like the beaten
better than any damned beatnik
winging poems like prayers
along the road

the heron knows the blues
three bars down, four bars down
twelve bars and ten shots later
winging whisky like a prayer
down the throat
of this mean little city on this mean little river
on this mean little day

Legs

For Celeste & Sydney

O Lowell, do not forget your daughters,
how they ran, how they skipped,
how they danced on hot summer nights
and sang silly songs into winter mornings.

Do not forget how your daughters stood
beside the river as the leaves turned,
how they wriggled their toes on the grass
one Easter morning.

O Lowell, remember your daughters
leaping and swimming and walking
down Merrimack Street – young
hopeful, dreaming dreams of love.

Remember your daughters in black shoes
laughing over wine at the theater,
how they curled their legs up underneath
cuddling with their babies.

O Lowell, do not forget your daughters.