Mary Buchinger


I grow old
on this corner

I watch the trees
grow intense
with cold

Somewhere in the city
a car—Ford forest green
curvilinear roof rack

and a man
his hands on the wheel

Have I looked for anything
as long and as steadily?

The car more familiar
than even myself—

feet planted on concrete
museum greenhouses
at my back

I lean on the cold
iron rod of a Stop sign

What if another man
were in the car today—

some other lover
from a different time

grown bald and nearsighted
looking for me

would I climb into
that beige interior
its bucket-seat arms

would my lips brush
that man’s too
before the car blinked left
and turned?

Mary Buchinger is the author of three collections of poetry:  e i n f ü h l u n g/in feeling(2018), Aerialist (2015) and Roomful of Sparrows (2008). She is President of the New England Poetry Club and Professor of English and Communication Studies at MCPHS University in Boston. Her work has appeared in AGNI, Diagram, Gargoyle, Nimrod, PANK, Salamander, Slice Magazine, The Massachusetts Review, and elsewhere; her website is

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