Like Lightning

A brand new, exclusive to Substack poem

Photo captured while walking from Chinatown to Copley Square along Boylston Street

Good evening, Friends! Thank you for all your recent comments and messages about my last post, Grief and Glimmers; they mean so much to me. I’m delighted that the concept of glimmers resonates with you as much as it does with me. I hope you are seeing some this week!

I can hardly believe we are facing the final full night of February; March will sweep in at midnight tomorrow, and with it, the subtle but substantial shift in the air that smells a little more like spring than winter. March is what I call Secret Garden time of year; the weeks where snow and cold still hang over our heads, but underneath the soil, all kinds of green is coming to life. I spied my first crocus this week, its thin petals glowing violet against the gray of a rainy sky. The sight of the flower was a glimmer, no doubt.

This week, I am sharing an untitled poem (below) with you that I largely composed while riding the bus to and from teaching my courses at Emerson College the last two days. The MTBA has shut down the green line trains for a couple of weeks for track work, and I’ve been trying to cut down on my mindless scrolling on my temporarily longer commute. I’ve greatly enjoyed getting to scribble some poetry and enjoy the beauty of Beacon Street on my bus rides, while listening to this long loved, gorgeous song sung by Alison Krauss and Robert Plant.