This twilight, standing on the shore, with my feet
sinking in wet sand, with wind nipping & tucking
at my loose dress, I do not resist its invisible hands.
My arms rise above my head; my body lists—
No one is watching from an upstairs’ window
or from a horizon’s avenue, wondering
how long I will be able to be here . . .
Only lake waves roll in precisely, turning
like pages of a book— one
I’ve read— dark shallow waters
deceive me, once again.
Perennials
Under the sycamore’s shade, I bend to pull this
generation of weeds that is as persistent as I
am determined. What to do with this scraggly
sage?
Hostas unfurl their scrolls, announcing it is
going to be summer in forty shades of green.
Lilies have doubled and lavender seems
to be on hold.
Working quickly, I am startled by my agility,
up and down, filling the wheelbarrow full
of weeds, sticks, and last year’s leaves.
I make three trips to the compost pile
where a peach tree grows spontaneously.
There was life here before us; and yet,
this is our life. How much longer?
I disturbed the earth today.
M.J. Iuppa’s forthcoming fifth full length poetry collection The Weight of Air from Kelsay Books and a chapbook of 24 100-word stories, Rock. Paper. Scissors. from Foothills Publishing, in 2022. For the past 33 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.
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