The pantry so cold winters the cooking oil froze.

And the wind sweeping in underneath the kitchen door.

Necessary to warm the pipes in the little bathroom.

Wastewater in the cellar every two years, how fast the trees grew roots.

A bedroom built without a t-square, askew.

You, and the books and papers accumulating around you.

Your rooms awash in words, who needed few.

The birds getting in, the raccoon, and one busy day a wall of bees.

A cavalcade of roofers and carpenters.

A procession of dimensions: space, light and time, especially time.

2. They

The drapes closed summer mornings against the torrid sun.

Ice by the buckets-full, refrigerated fruit.

Crucial to suck the cool night air in with a fan, then close up tight.

The worst heat and humidity wrapped us in torpor.

In the inoperable fireplace chimney, an abandoned nest.

The swifts fled from safe brick for the yard’s abundance.

Years must have passed, where are they?

Our sons became men.

The high ceilings that spoiled us for caves.

The mortality that slept like a baby.

send comments to info@poetrybay.com

first electronic copyright 2000 poetrybay. 
all rights revert to authors

website comments to dpb@islandguide.com