BEFORE
THE SEASON
A
quiet morning in New Hampshire
In
June,
before the campers arrive
And
the
weekend guests from out of town,
Pulled
along
the surface by boats too big for the pond.
We
float,
Martha and I, on a warm ripple out of the West,
Baucis
and
Philemon in inner tubes, bobbing gently,
Talking
about
not much:
About
tasks
around the cottage:
My
can
of stain has gone bad, frozen over the winter;
The
stoops
will return to paint, to latex,
Whose
transitory
lie upon the pine
Gives
need
and hope of tasks to come;
About
our
girls, their families,
The
lives
they have made for themselves in other towns.
They
will
be here soon,
Their
children
clambering over
The
same
remembered rocks along the shore.
Years
ago,
when we would pack to leave, the four of us,
My
mother
said, “Our summer is over.”
Across
the
pond the meadow waits for haystacks.
That
evening
a sudden rain sparkles,
Drops
of
orange, yellow, pink
Dance
iridescent
in the early afterglow.
There
will
be other days like this
But
none
better.
CHRISTMAS
LIGHTS
My
neighbor
is on his ladder,
Taking
down
the Christmas lights;
His
wife
has gone inside to rest,
Just
home
from her chemo.
I
start to say something like
Well, time to pack ’em up
For
another year
But
decide
not to.
AT
THE SENIOR CITIZENS
SPRING LUNCHEON
The
lady
across the table felt faint,
Her
eyes
rolled upward.
Our
doctor
friend, retired,
Caught
her,
attended to her
So
calmly
as to keep us from
Gawking,
Able
to
continue our salad of
Grilled
chicken,
feta cheese,
Kalamata
olives.
A
mild heart attack, he thought.
First
responders
responded.
The
luncheon
went on.
Some
people
on the other side of the tent
Did
not
notice.
Robert
Demaree
is the author of three book-length collections, including After Labor Day (2014)
published by
Beech River Books. He presents poetry readings, seminars and
workshops in North
Carolina (October through June) and New England (June through
October.)
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