FEATURED POETRY

They tell me the tale of the Fort Devens boys

whose boots beat the pavement til

the track fell concave, a gutter, a trench,

who leaned on elbows out the windows

to sneak a quick smoke.

 

But the barracks I see stand

abandoned, windows still propped at odd angles

and screens torn and hanging like limbs,

ivy veins creeping in from corners

toward the irises in their wide eyes.

 

The signs yell no trespass but the

shrubs grow brittle leaves on their skeleton

branches, anemic and infused with arsenic,

whose roots reach down while

blistered hands clamor up to meet them.