Augusta, Maine – by Marianne Szlyk

I was made for the sun,
but here I am in Augusta.
At Christmas, the snow
is as real as ground glass,
and the Three Kings,
are just statues,
less than the live dogs
around St. Patrick’s manger.

All summer mi hijos played baseball,
and I shivered in the stands,
drinking café con leche
from a thermos.
The sun gave no more heat 
than a postcard of Florida.
My brown thighs shriveled
like bananas 
left on the counter.
I covered them in mom jeans.

All winter I sit, huddled
indoors in a white parka
bought from a catalog.
I drink Café Bustelo,
straight, no leche,
my gloved hands around
a thermos from the bank.

Neighbors hike to the ski lift
on the edge of town.
The men balance six-packs
on their shoulders.
No one else winces at the wind,
the snow, the sleet,
the black ice,
the wind and the sleet
that pound at my windows
like someone else’s bad lover.

My sons play hockey.
I keep them busy.
They are made for Augusta


Published in the anthology “Something’s Brewing”
by AJ Huffman

check out Marianne’s blog “The Song Is” here:


3 thoughts on “Augusta, Maine – by Marianne Szlyk

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