Only a Mile Further On
Where Words Go
by Becky Dennison Sakellariou
PETERBOROUGH New Hampshire—(Weekly Hubris)—12/5/11—“The landscapes of my two worlds, the Mediterranean and New England, are often tangled up with each other, one might even say confused as to where they belong. This ‘mix’ appears frequently in my poems, so I just ‘walk it through.’”—BDS
“Only a Mile Further On”
Late afternoon sunbeams bend
around my feet, my eyes
infatuated by their light.
The sky curves down
across my back, my skin
blazes with anticipation,
my palm against my neck
watching for the fall.
Last April, a yellow-bellied sapsucker
was sighted at Jemima Pond
in Eastham, Massachusetts.
I wasn’t there for this fragment
of grace. I was pushing instead
through thick-stalked, thigh-high grasses
between my house and the quince trees,
aching with the redemption of beauty,
wanting the final answers,
not the problems.
You’d think there might be an edge,
jagged and abrupt,
so you keep walking
into that blueing distance, expecting
only a mile or so further on
to where gray catbirds, razorbills
and ruddy turnstones
appear across the pond
in the late afternoon, sheltering
shards of light
that press into the water’s rough surface
as if to pass daylight
into darkness
through their fanned wing bones.
2 Comments
diana
Welcome to WH, Becky dear. Shall we go together to Jemima Pond after we’ve finished with the quinces? Love that name. xoxd
Becky Sakellariou
My dear one, We ARE on our way to Jemima Pond, the quinces in our bags, banging against our legs. The crows follow us, calling…..
love, Becky