March 2, 2017

Walking on Nubble Light Road by Marianne Szlyk

In the north, the light is clear and thin,
                scoured of smoke and clouds,
                                of his cologne and my onion rings.

I can see each blade of grass,
                each pebble nestling by the house,
                                each streak of red in the tulip.

I smell lilac in the cool wind.
                Salt blows in from
                                the ocean below this cliff.

I taste nothing.  I taste everything.
                I take a drink
                                of cool, clear water.

I hear music from the houses.
                Carpenters keep the beat
                                to songs of summers past.

In this spring I feel summer coming.

Marianne Szlyk is the editor of The Song Is... Her second chapbook, I Dream of Empathy, was published by Flutter Press.  Recently, she was artist in residence at The Wild Word.  She encourages you to send work to her magazine. For more information about it, see this link:


  1. Have stood by The Nubble in all seasons. Hard to pick a fave. Solid write. My hat's off.

  2. Thanks so much, Ron. My parents used to live by the Nubble, so even though I never lived in Maine, I spent a lot of time up there.


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