This, Nowhere but Here

I want to tell you

about the walk home.

The midwinter clouds in clear relief.


I was seeing things sharply

just for a moment.

A sequence

with no overlay.


The ruined symmetry

of bells, wet snow,

holes in the pavement.


The trampled leaves

fossilized in cobblestone.


Gloves abandoned

on a thick stone wall.


I saw a little girl pushing

a dog in a stroller.

I saw two white-haired women

walking arm in arm


I saw an audience

leaving the theater

squinting into the light


and I felt for a moment

the old body

inside my younger body

waiting to uncurl.


I felt how my knees would ache then

and I could smell the musk of the trees then,

when I’m old in December, walking home.


Everything, just as now,

only one shade deeper.


About the author

Molly Silverstein

Molly Silverstein is a Jewish poet, grad student, and person. She currently studies at Harvard Divinity School, where her work focuses on comparative mysticism, contemporary spiritual care, and the psychology of religion. Her writing has been previously published in Maudlin House, Sheila Na Gig, and Five 2 One Magazine, and she has performed with the Juniper Bends reading series. Winter is her favorite season.

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