Buena Vista Street
by Erin McGrath
Nostalgia is
when memories
turn into Gods
of knowing who you were.
When
the boulevard fog takes the shape
of ghosts, waiting;
when we awake
morning after morning
folded into one another
like paper
and I still smell the walk in Carson Park
beneath your earlobe.
It's in the first drink you made me.
It's the sad little plant by the living room door.
It's the green candle on the coffee table,
it's in the air, pushing through the windows,
trembling and settling
into dust.
Powerful poem, Erin. I keep reading the first line, I really love it. *
Beautiful poem, Erin. The ending is particularly lovely.
Why do you want to capitalize gods?
"When we awake" or "when we wake"?
"and I still smell the walk in Carson Park / beneath your earlobe"
Love the intimate specificity of that.
*
Absolute reality:
"when we awake
morning after morning
folded into one another
like paper"
Good piece. Strong closing.
Mr. Yarrow, thanks. You always catch the small details I miss - you're right, I should change it to "wake." As for "Gods," I capitalized it as I've noticed - in my life (though smaller ways) and in the lives of some loved ones - that memories can be almost "worshiped" or glorified and sometimes it can cripple one's current experiences or make one blind to what is happening 'now.' Similar to the way I feel religious fanaticism can handicap a person's ability to be whole. Or something. I don't know if that makes sense. So, "Gods" to me has that kind of significance that "gods" would lack in the context of the poem. :)(Kundera - I love that man, but it all goes back to "Ignorance." Best book of my life. Best!!)
Dear Foster,
Thank you for the feedback! I love the first line too. I appreciate that.
Sam,
Thank you, the ending was hard for me - I wrote the first draft of this poem four years ago and felt it had that "hanging" problem. I'm glad it works now!
"and I still smell the walk in Carson Park
beneath your earlobe." What a startling image. Well done.*
Love the poem. As for wake and awake both, the words always feel too clunky and Saxon for me. I always try to use something else, like maybe 'stir.'
Great poem ... fave
A Wow ending. Expertly chosen details. Very fine work. *
I was drawn to this poem because my great-grandmother's name was Buena Vista. She was named for a place on a map. And then the first line grabbed me and held on. Something about this time of year for me always holds memory "pushing through the windows." *
I agree with Foster, the first line is great and really draws you in. I enjoyed this.
Thank you for the feedback, everyone, I appreciate it!!