Poems September 2015
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.
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This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 34 Number 1, on page 27
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