Today is departure day, though when exactly that will happen for the Maine contingent is unclear, as the roads are dicey after some overnight icing. Paul is bussing back to NYC at noon, James is flying back to Chicago in the early evening, and Tom and I ought to get going this morning, if we can. Laundry, cat, groceries, dealing with these still-problematic glasses, not to mention actual paying work: all are anxiously awaiting me. But detaching from the family will be hard.

Tom, though, is taking the rest of the week off, which makes me happy. He's got a bunch of photo things to deal with, plus our bed frame to begin working on. And he's got some end-of-year vacation days to use up and needs the rest. Just as well, really, as someone on his crew has tested positive. (Tom did manage to track down another home test yesterday and is still negative, thank goodness.)

Here is another little poem from the new collection--

Inviting the Muse to the North Country

Dawn Potter

 

For I shall be the first, if I live, to bring the Muse into my country.

—Virgil, The Georgics

 

When I opened the door of my beat-up

plywood porch and welcomed her into my

patria, she didn’t say hello or thank you,

just stamped snow onto the yellowed kitchen

linoleum and kicked off her new boots. In stocking

feet she stalked among the melting ice puddles

and knelt down on the hearth to warm her cracked

hands at the fire. She’d never been to our part

of the world before. I thought she might have some

questions for me. But those new boots were thin,

and soon her chilblains began itching and throbbing

under the heat of the stove. They turned out to be

the only story we could tell.

[from Accidental Hymn (Deerbrook Editions, 2022)]