Letter to Providence

Dear hidden estate of which surely I
am queen, what is your weight in stone,
in paper, in gold? I hold your promises
carefully in one hand while with the other
I wield a rusty machete to clear a trail
through underbrush, through screens
of twigs and bramble, turning logs and small
boulders aside. You’ve always been a few
nimble steps ahead— sometimes disappearing,
then beckoning with a quick flick of the wrist,
a hand-lettered sign spelling Home.
And who would not hunger for such a vision:
an acre, a hollow, a nest no matter how
small, no matter it weighs as much
as the bird that built it… Be legible
now for me, convey such simple trust:
that willingness to indemnify my
years of hard wandering, at last.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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3 Comments


  1. Now that’s a nice free response to kinglets/statelets and a nest that weighs as much as a bird…

    Reply

    1. Isn’t it though?

      As it happens, I am mailing a letter to Providence this morning. The one in Rhode Island.

      Reply

  2. Yes, I like best the ones that are really swoopy and flash far away from the starting point.

    Once-upon-a-time the one in Rhode Island would have had a name that resounded to most people. So it’s not that far away from the Other One in meaning except maybe in time. And what’s a little thing like time, right?

    Reply

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