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Jason Youngclaus was born in Boston and graduated from College of the Holy Cross 2005. In university he studied and was captivated by the Romantic poets, particularly Coleridge. You will find his poems in Junto Magazine, Swimming with Elephants Publications, From Whispers to Roars, the Esthetic Apostle and others. He lives in the Bronx, NY.

“I grew up in the Merrimack Valley with my parents hailing from the Cambridge/Somerville border, Camp St. off Mass Ave. to be exact. I spent my childhoods walking around Davis Sq. with my grandparents. After I graduated from Holy Cross in 2005 I moved to NYC and have lived there ever since; but I am always beckoned back home in both mind and heart.”

Jason Youngclaus

Arthur Avenue

One foot in both worlds

is how I prefer to live —

born of one place,

never to inhibit its lead;

left foot anchored so the right can pivot,

carve out its own unique marble dreams.

We all land rooted in hopes

not unsung before.

They ooze out from aromas…

I can taste the fresh, herbal song

the coal fired pizzas

our grandmother graced us with

on Sunday afternoons after church

in Davis Sq.

Eye level trays

anchored on checkered tables,

fables of manners, parables,

America the uncanny, the beautiful,

the work ethic, the geese bled in bathtubs

and other such things endured

on the immigrant killing fields.

Oh and napkins, lest we forget the napkins…

Never wipe grease

on a shirt your mother’s pressed and creased!

Now I’ve arrived here holding

greasy handrails on bus

routes she never knew…

still my forehead rests on a lamppost

emitting the same shattered light

simultaneously overlooking

the Somerville streets where my grandfather

sold door locks

and carried ice skates across

the bombardier’s front lawn

then down matchstick paths

over semi-frozen ponds.

Perhaps one day some kid

holding our blood and lead

will emerge —

a vaguely parallel way,

eagle-eyed and eager

to hand a Lemon Ice to his cousin,

as oblivious and carefree

as a stray napkin

kicking its way down

a busy side street;

whose mysterious geometry

aligns on every plane but time’s…

arrives, feints its doomed climb

up a vibrant city muralside

where painted pride

colors a prewar building

on a hot summer night after a ballgame.

Oftentimes,

when you stand at a crossroads…

it’s not so much your location

…as where you’re at.

— Jason Youngclaus

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To have your work considered for the Lyrical send it to:
Doug Holder, 25 School St.; Somerville, MA 02143
dougholder@post.harvard.edu