September 26: Harvest of memories

Middle of the road

split-open husk, horse chestnut

for childhood's pockets.

Posted with Blogsy

September 2: Pesto

Given a bunch of basil this morning by our neighbor, I embarked on making pesto for the first time in about 25 years.

I wonder where he is
the boy who first taught me
how to make pesto

April 18: Spring cleaning

Spring cleaning--

lovers' old letters thrown out

with stacks of paid bills.

Posted with Blogsy

December 15: Christmas stollen

Marzipan Christmas stollen--
I still miss my Nana
gone thirty years.

July 23: Eau d'eau

Walking along the river--

smell of fish, mossy rocks.

Time keeps on slipping.

Posted with Blogsy

June 16: Fireflies

Misty back roads at night,

fireflies flickering past.

This.

 

Posted with Blogsy

May 30: Morning fog

heavy scent of lilacs

cries of gulls, nostalgia

lifting with the fog

Posted with Blogsy

August 7: Nostalgia

My husband asked me yesterday if I ever have nostalgic thoughts. What poet could honestly answer "no"? This time of year, as the start of the Bread Loaf Writers Conference approaches in the Green Mountains of Vermont, my thoughts often drift to the eight summers that I attended the conference, seven of them as part of the administrative "social" staff. I was in my twenties. Those two weeks spent with fellow poets, many of whom became close friends, living, breathing, eating, talking, writing, listening to, and reading poetry, surrounded by inspiring, well-known poets and other writers, in an idyllic mountain setting, were truly a highlight of my young life. We stayed up late, drank too much, danced in the barn, frolicked through hay fields, wished on falling stars while huddled around a bonfire, caught fireflies, skinny-dipped, and, most of all, were fueled by excellent lectures, readings, and workshops that kept me going as a poet for the rest of the year. Ah, those August days (and nights) on the mountain...

Kissing in a field--
what could be more innocent
on a summer night?