My Blood Spilt into Boston Harbor

By Dan Hein

It happened when you cut into my skin:
    not with a blade,
    but with a word.
I promised myself that I wouldn’t cry,
    but I did cry,
    and blood rushed out.
There on the docks, we danced and sang that day,
    until the moon,
    pale and bright, said:
Come back tomorrow, and come back again;
    well, we came back,
    and she said “no”.