Cruising Boston Harbor

On Sunday morning the Chinatown bus to South Station. I visited my younger sister Pam twice. Ate fried clams at the Oyster House. Yesterday afternoon I caught the Rowe's Wharf ferry to the Pemberton Gut at the top of the Hull Peninsula. I wandered around the beach in the late winter sun. To the East Boston Light and the Atlantic. The beach packed with glacial rubble from

Mount Washington or Agiocochook to the native Abenakis the home of the Concealed One. This is all so familiar to me like the Coast of Maine. Nantasket Beach. The ocean. The green blue. So close to our blood. My youngest years on Falmouth Foresides. The smell of beans wafting across the harbor from the B&M factory. Mixed with molasses.

From Portland's Eastern Promenade Mount Washington. Summer 2019 Quinton and I drove up to the peak. Over 6000 feet high

And I got naked in the summer sun atop of New England.

Now on the trolley to Park Street. The bell old as the 19th Century. My namesake grandfather from the Aran Isles A trolley man conducting out of Forest Hills. All of it. All of us. Now always. Park Street.

Yesterday sitting on the same bench on which I forgot my phone. I called my number. Emily, a young Chinese Med student answered. She brought it to me in Harvard Square. It's my next destination. In the autumn 1970 I saw the Modern Lovers on the Common. A bright windy afternoon the park filled by hippies I'm still a hippie. A true New Englander. This is my world Always. Oh New England