these days

It’s a strange kind of lethargy
this quarantine creates,
a Ground Hog Day repeat
of rhythm and routine
until we get it right.

And yet, it is cosy here inside
the cottage looking across the river
at the island treeline’s mound
of green rising like a turtle
from the water.

Through shimmering heat
sparks of light like daytime fireflies
flicker and fade, mirroring
the ebb and flow of tide
and my own energy.

The tranquility of this place
masks the turmoil beyond, where
‘news’ zooms and boomerangs
off nerves already shredded
by too much, and not enough.

If only I could bottle this air,
this peaceful solitude, and mix it
into the world’s morning porridge,
with a prayer to pay attention
to what really matters

we could find our collective way
out of this stand-off, this barrage
of bad, the sense of scarcity driving
a hungry few to overindulge, leaving
the rest of us to fend for ourselves.

swb

third time’s a charm

Aside

 

This image pretty much says it all: twelve poems in twelve hours. Third time around. Completed all 12 each time. Now the question is: are any of them worthy of the light of day? We’ll see over the coming period of time …

Meanwhile, may I also congratulate my fellow poets who did either the Half Marathon (12 poems in 12 hours) or the Full Marathon (24 poems in 24 hours). It is a tribute to stamina, creativity, and poetic determination. We persisted!!!

coming home

sunset w mistA piece just up at MomEggReview, ‘Coming Home’ shares my love of Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom. It is also the basis for my husband and I moving our young family there some 23 years back. Not to the NE Kingdom, but to VT. Which is another story… How Chittenden County – which houses Burlington where we ended up the last 8 years, but also Jericho, our first 14 – is said to have the advantage of being near VT. The ‘real’ VT being God’s country, the afore-mentioned NE Kingdom.

While life ‘near’ VT – on the other side of Mt. Mansfield and in its shadow – saw our younger three children through high school and into the colleges of their choices, the early years of vacationing at “The Verm”* established a foundation for a deep sense of place, a shared vocabulary of experience and meaning for us as a family.

During this time of social distancing and staying put, it is oddly comforting that MomEggReview has released this wonderful collection of non-fiction essays called “Here at Home.” What better time to reflect on what home really means, especially as we might be temped to feel trapped or triggered by small things that begin to feel huge. For my part, I stand by this writing. While my soul home has shifted from the mountains of VT to the shore of MA, I still get the familiar anticipatory shiver up my spine as I drive that final five miles; still look for Clarence and Clarissa; still enjoy lingering sunsets. Still bask in the peace and invigoration of communion with earth, air, stars.

* My dad coined the term ‘microverm’ to describe my parents’ dream spot – a little piece of Vermont – during the decades they searched for it. The name stuck, shortened, once they found this corner of heaven some 50 years ago.