Poem 1

The first line is taken from Elizabeth Bishop’s “The Armadillo”

This is the time of year
when, in the quiet night,
I churn through the old
like compost, trying to plant
the perfect bulb.

What is the Spring if not
a long glance
behind one shoulder?

Sara says she misses him
when she comes home again—
something about the
Hopper light, the dusty bottles
in a row
on her high-up windowsill.

April, and everyone
we never left
comes back for us,
opening up the trolley
riding down Germantown’s
cobblestones in the
afternoon sun,
saying boldly—if indeterminately
mired in the winter shadows—
come, come.

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2 thoughts on “Poem 1

  1. I love the subtle quiet moments in this that are so striking. churning through the old like compost. dusty bottles in a row. Germantown’s cobblestones in the afternoon sun. ugh, stunning.

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