TANKA DIARY: 2009—2014
June 2009:
I-81 north:
Old guys with Florida
plates,
Bound for New
England
Maybe the Adirondacks,
Perhaps the Thousand Islands
January
2010
January day:
Leafless trees against blue
sky;
Birds crowd the
feeder,
Goldfinches in winter
garb,
Muted Eddie Bauer
green.
July 2012
Foggy summer
day,
Cannot see the Isles of
Shoals.
Walk on gravel
beach,
Cairns silhouetted in
mist.
I add a rock to the
pile.
August
2013
Stopped at the
border,
Into Maine from New
Brunswick,
We have been
profiled:
Senior citizens
suspect,
Contraband prescription
drugs.
October
2014
Sugar maple,
oak,
Umber in the gray-white
mist:
October
foliage,
As though light shown from
within:
Quiet New Hampshire
morning
THE MORNING OF THE SANDWICH FAIR
It is the morning of the Sandwich
Fair.
Summer people come back to
New Hampshire
in October:
A giddy sense of
trespass
Where the tangents of everyday lives
touch, briefly.
We are sharers of space, of holy
ground,
Eavesdroppers, bound by the accident
of juxtaposition,
By random
consecutiveness.
At the craft shop mothers with
children of different ages
Mill about. The women order wedding
presents
With a certain vacant
self-absorption.
The children have opted out of the
pewtersmith’s tour;
They careen around the shop,
handling the merchandise
And each other: home schoolers on an
outing, we conclude.
At the restaurant four
classmates,
Over fifty but not quite our
age,
Critique a class reunion.
They lament poor attendance at the
dinner,
The choice of entree, time’s
unkindness.
We drive on, regarding each maple,
each sumac
As though leaves might not turn
again.
At the Sandwich Fair Amanda Glidden
awaits the pony pulling,
Her sheep judged runners up to best
of show.
“The Morning of the
Sandwich Fair” appeared in the 2010
Poets’ Guide to New
Hampshire
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