Sunday, May 1, 2011


Dawn Potter

So wild it was when we first settled here.

Spruce roots invaded the cellar like thieves.

Skunks bred on the doorstep, cluster flies jeered.

Ice-melt dripped shingles and screws from the eaves.

We slept by the stove, we ate meals with our hands.

At dusk we heard gunshots, and wind and guitars.

We imagined a house with a faucet that ran

From a well that held water. We canvassed the stars.

If love is an island, what map was our hovel?

Dogs howled on the mainland, our cliff washed away.

We hunted for clues with a broken-backed shovel.

We drank all the wine, night dwindled to grey.

When we left, a flat sunrise was threatening snow,

But the frost heaves were deep. We had to drive slow.

[first published in roger (2009); forthcoming in Same Old Story (CavanKerry Press)]


Julia Munroe Martin said...

Beautiful poem! Happy May Day!

Maureen said...

Lovely sonnet, Dawn. I'll look forward to your new collection.

Ruth said...

As my 5th graders so often say, I can see this picture in my head.

Dawn Potter said...

Thank you all for your kindness. It may make a better poem than it was a house. . . .