Up in the attic,

a partition

put up by a past generation.

On the wall

stained paper. Peel!

Uncover the wood.

Reveal the new.

Behind the barn

a small round pool,

not shallow or deep,

not warm or cool.

Rinsing. Renewal.

Water. Sleep.

Our reconfigured

families lie

back in the pool,

gaze at the sky,

a tender blue.

It’s barely dawn.

It’s twilight too.

It’s still early.

It’s getting late.

Here we are:

no time to wait.

The soil is frozen.

It’s winter now

but spring is stirring.

New plants will grow.

Their roots are stretching

underground,

already they’re pushing

toward the sun.

I look at you.

I love you so.

A Message from the Editors

Our past successes are owed to our greatest ambassadors: our readers. Our future rests on your support, as The New Criterion Editor Roger Kimball explains. Will you help us continue to bring our incisive review of the arts and culture to the next generation of readers?

This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 34 Number 1, on page 27
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