This city has a pulse
The sound of subway cars
Like blood rushing in your ears
The hum of different tongues
Echoing up and down
The 9am train to Haymarket
This city is awake with life
Even in the throws of winter
Salt air mixes with the smell
Of salt dust covering the ground
Even the dead can’t be quiet
Their churches and monuments
Still stand among skyscrapers
Proclaiming their history
Calling, “Do not forget me.
Do not forget the sacrifices,
The great crimes and strides
Made to ensure the safety
Of a foundling nation.
Do not forget me when you
Must remember me most.”
My eyes turn upward
As the snow begins to fall

— B.


3 thoughts on “Boston

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