WEEDS
Volume 5, Collected Poems, 2007
Preview
Christmas Morning at Mattapoisett
The harbor is empty of boats.
The bright light glints off the waves and the buoys,
sending signals.
Mergansers fish the shallows close in by docks.
As I drink my tea,
the buffleheads flash through their dives.
It's an icy scene
and one I'm happy to view through two panes of glass.
The morning it was sixteen degrees
and the sky was dark when I wen with my dog to the
beach.
Merry Christmas fleas.
Merry Christmas Orion and stars.
Merry Christmas Venus.
Wind as sharp, breath was easy to see and I stood and
listened
as the day extended its lease:
first cries of gulls,
then the gabbling of geese and of ducks,
soon the whine of trucks
moving fast up on 195 on their way to Boston.
Christmas After
There is a compelling sadness to Christ's event,
hope thrown away with wrappings,
expectance spent,
and only bills left to pay.
It's another day.
Reality arrives with indifference.
And this time we never made it.
We turned back home,
kids wrapped up in blankets and coats,
and the heater cone
no longer the least bit combative.
Should we have to eat,
I feared cafes would be closed.
Our gas was low;
and tires we rode on were old,
the tread worn thin.
I knew if a storm should come in
with the air so cold,
I'd have enough worry
to bank it.
Still as I drove,
I remembered how first I learned wonder,
how beside a tree
made of lights
I lay down on the floor,
in my heart conceived
a world lived by wish
without guile
where a wish expressed
by a child, no matter how poor
was a gift received.
It's to such as these
that the promise of heaven is given
Trust does not last long.
The snow as we drive becomes heavy.
The wipers freeze with the build up
and clack forth and back.
We follow tracks
made by others who have hurried before,
who we hope could see
a road now as blank as the snow
filling up black trees.