Harbor of heritage, of hunger,
Of my grandfather’s hope for work in line on the waterfront, of the homeless beside high-end, high-rise condos, of heartbreak personal and collective, where
Many ghosts meet. where
Even on a dreary day, when
Loss is an anthem,
An ave rehearsed in an empty church where you, your parents, your grandparents were christened, it shines.
Notice the man sitting on the steps, the man lying on a waterfront bench as if to become it, their backs to the church, to the view—who has turned its back on who? what
Does it mean to be of a place?
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