Updated: Mar 2, 2021
By Sylvie Epstein
The towns of the Eastern Seaboard like to call my name.
and gray plush on the passenger’s seat flashes with the passing of the pines
I have been to Somerville to look for your face painted onto brick or in the grass and in Bangor I search for you in the sky
As you sleep in bed, at home, I whisper in your ear I am the white clad arm behind pharmacy glass, I tell you
I am the clumsy fingertips bumping fingertips handing over receipts I pass packaged pills to boys in blue caps – like yours
I am the waitress in the bowling shirt serving grits on the hour I stop and search for known, dear, lopsided smiles in crowds of strange round faces
I am sorry my mind is lost in these towns, I whisper
Is Danvers calling to you, my love?
In Ellsworth—my name—in bellowing echoes…