Massachusetts Without Me
You cherished the pilgrim state
delighted in its colour
its limitless appeal
its end-of-the-world feel.
You were the kitten
to Rockport’s cradle-
it pushed you off course
shifted your perception
of what you considered an idyll.
It was the good Doctor Jekyll,
not the belligerent Mr Hyde
whom you left behind.
Salem smiled, Boston beamed
and I faced east, ill at ease
that you were content without me.
A Strand of Hair
The strings that linked us have become threadbare
but loose ends are crying to be tied there.
The garment may be torn, and what we share
may have been a stitch in time, but be aware
though only akin to a strand of hair
it never really left me, it’s still there.
Stuck like a harpoon, a stubborn spear
adjoined like wires we are, my dear
which flow through valleys then reappear
at the heart of things, like a small souvenir
that closes the gap and makes things clear
drawing our distant pathways near.
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