It was never so easy writing poetry
As it is from here,
From this rock that grew a village
And made me love it
Even though I didn't know it at the time,
But my heart had grown weary
Of falling in love with distant places.
I was just getting ready to slow my growing
Like an old hermit crab
Tucking into one more shell,
When this painted, overly embroidered
Over-loved, spoiled, hard-edged
Wild and sweet, feisty, expensive
Former Viking settlement
Of a giant-swordfish boneyard
Ten miles out
From the fractal coast of empire, gently said
"I see you - you can write here."
So, twice a year
Monhegan lets me dream with her for a while,
But just for a while,
Searching for what is missing, which,
If I were to stay here too long
Could easily become
The whole theme of a life.
(Article changed on Jul 02, 2023 at 8:22 PM EDT)
(Article changed on Jul 04, 2023 at 1:53 PM EDT)
