Poetry

Afternoon at Nahant

Only March and it’s 85 degrees in Boston.
Nahant on the North Shore beckons:
the wide strand, where all the simple joys
arrange themselves, scatter about
among snail shells, stones, sand that sparkles.
It’s rare to know where you belong
at any given moment. For doubt to take a vacation
when the air still has a chill, especially by the water,
and the sun can’t quite make up for it.

Gloria’s Sam and Noah
and my Gianni, chase each other,
circles widening, nothing in the way, so
free to run and who cares if they get wet?
Children don’t feel a cool breeze anyway,
at least not such fortunate children.
Mothers wait for days like this,
when they can honestly answer the question:
“Where are we going?”
give them an answer they can understand:
“We’re going on an adventure.”
So we are spending the afternoon at Nahant.
For this we decided to relinquish our worries.
We’ll eat oranges instead of dinner,
And go home late to our husbands.
We five race along the horizon of the water’s edge,
Push away the thought of rush hour traffic
On the Lynn Way, and stay until the sun goes down.

The House is Settled: Observing the Children’s Orchestra Rehearsal

                       *
     “So close, so tense, so rich.
     The harmony is not open.
     Compare this with anything
     You ever did in your life,
     With the Paganini we did last week,
     With any of Bach.

     “What would you say about the beginning?
     Does it give life?
     Is it beneath the dark earth? Above the earth?
     Is it happy music?
     No! No!
     It’s coming from underneath the murky water.”

The straw-haired girl says she has mixed feelings.

And Charlie waves his hand so beautifully.
He says, The music is so anxious.

     “So then,
     no Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, huh?”

* From Living Proof, Cervena Barva Press, 2007