WHAT REMAINS

WHAT REMAINS

On Merrimack Street,

In Lowell, there's a signpost 

That says: Detour.

Maybe he never should have 

Taken the other road,

Maybe he should have gone 

Back, gone the other way

And stayed on these roads.

The air at the end of these 

Roads becomes thick and 

Dense and there is fog.

Here, on lonely low bleak cloudy days 

There are quiet somber and grey 

Places: big old several storied houses 

With many front steps and slanted roofs

And lots of windows for eye prints. 

The houses on University Avenue 

From long ago are comforting with

Stubborn intoxicating attics whispering

Secrets obsessed with what 

Was, so returning to this street 

Reveals air like a strange pentimento.

Old stores with faded signs, corner

Places that never ever yielded or 

Changed and they don't bend, they

Remain strong, proud, and solid.

If he stayed for more than a short 

Time he always heard the swing 

Music; drizzling so he could remember.

At night, in dreams, when 

The way became lost, he

Soon realized he never left. 

All that time, all those years 

His eyes were just closed.

The boarded up windows gave 

Him reasons to cry. 

Now, this is the end of the seductive 

Road, his forever destination: 

A place that always surfaced

When sad dreams and deep 

Longing finally fell away...

And he had to return to this place

Like a traveler who finally uses his 

Return trip ticket. 

Home.

© Marjorie Levine 2010