Tag Archives: B.Z. Niditch


by B.Z. Niditch

(In memory of Robert Lowell, 1917-1977)

In a tweed jacket
when Boston scatters
a chill descends
on your walk in the rain
forgetting your umbrella
along the Esplanade
a lone acid face passes
his good day
covering his own pain
trying to think Emerson
or James is still alive
at least to reach the station
is to die known
and go underground again
to remember a poster
at the old corner store
from unseen departures
when fictions carry us over
embraced by time zones
on alphabet street signs
of cool interruptions
wishing to lay back in bed
or be a year younger
when signs,visions,rumors
open up early
by grandfather clocks
on common speech
as words crack
open water drops
of lethal insomnia
decoded in your absence
almost supremely human
with rotting laughter inside
a button falls off your suit
pushing your way out
of jammed train stations
to cross the lowest level
in belief’s suspension.