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Tag Archives: Bob Meszaros
You never liked them: beautiful but rootless. Spring was your season: you sat by the open window watching crocuses and tulips outside grabbing hold. In December you were admitted— a borrowed hothouse room, its windows sealed: cut flowers filled a … Continue reading
Sunset, a high tide full of sand on thighs, of salt on sun-browned skin. A day of baking in the sun; now every look and touch is fire. Forty miles of interstate to get home. You and I are last … Continue reading
I sit in a small abandoned office space in Brighton. Outside, the traffic on North Beacon pulses. Inside, the air conditioner deadens sound. High on the wall behind my son his most recent paintings hang: sunlight curls beneath a turnpike … Continue reading
First, by horse-drawn wagon; then truck— fourteen hundred deliveries a day in winter; four thousand in the summer when the sun’s heat waited for an open door. Wagons, trucks, horses and rubber-aproned men all packed in sawdust preservers lost to … Continue reading
The bride is in remission: she wears white the color of her skin. Her mother is matron of honor. Her sisters sing. She and her bridegroom sit in chairs before the altar, a dispensation granted by the priest. The church … Continue reading
It is wartime in Loews Poli. An artificial lovers’ sky, filled with harvest moons and jagged silver stars, arcs high above my head. On screen Kathryn Grayson stands alone beside an empty piano bench. She is looking for accompaniment. She … Continue reading