A Thanksgiving poem.
I went for my mother’s 87th birthday but stayed for the storm.
Forty five years ago, I received a telephone call from Anna Maxim, saying that a drunk man had crashed his car through her stone wall and was I...
The recent service at the Gay Head Cemetery for June Manning was a special gathering.
My first trips to Muskeget in 2020, in late January and four months later on Memorial Day weekend, perfectly sandwiched the coronavirus pandemic.
Over the past year, it has become increasingly clear that climate change is accelerating.
In a long row of pots along the side of the station / Blooms the garden of the garage’s mechanic.
Remember the spring of 2020‚ 18 months ago, when the word Covid had just entered our vocabulary.
Fred Vincent, sexton of the church / for thirty years / Walked past our house each Sunday / In the winter / To go and ring the bell.
In some circles there’s talk. Some of it is disparaging and some of it is hopeful. Its an old Island conversation, about newcomers.
The memories come flood ing back during the imposed isolation of the pandemic.
I recently attended a dedication ceremony at The Dodd Center for Human Rights at the University of Connecticut.

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