Emily Gardening
(Thinking of Emily Dickinson
at the Books & Blooms Festival)
by Wayne Sheridan
Emily spat words,
Crunched weeds,
Gave no quarter.
Flowers grew
Where she
Spat.
Perennials.
-----
Afternoon Fog
On the Public Landing, Boothbay Harbor, Maine,
July 2004
As some cold thought long
Forgot grabs the mind first,
Then crawls through
To possess you once more,
There is this cool kiss,
As fog grasps first
The Landing, then pulls
Up hill, to shroud the town.
The fog at least gives warning --
Clings first to treetops across the harbor;
Makes ghosts of anchored skiffs,
Blinks the sun.
Cold thoughts do not signal.
The chill comes unannounced --
A kiss unwelcome,
Quick shivers follow.