Vox Populi
A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 16,000 daily subscribers. Over 7,000 archived posts.
Judith A. Brice: Before the Terns
It’s always the waves I hear,
the lapping of the lake
at Walloon— perhaps the first sound
my young memory held,
before the kingfishers’,
the terns’ bolting splash to grab
the minnows in their purling midst.
But the waves rippling,
their swish and tickles at our feet
when we were three, four
and grown-up five,
these waves evolved, devolved—
even now, revolve in my thoughts
to the roaring ghosts of white-cap
blues, as after a ghastly storm
they’ll choose to slam
tossed and shorn cedar trunks,
or twisted, despairing, pine limbs
onto lonely, whiplashed grass.
It is always the waves I hear—
my childhood, before the turns.
Copyright 2018 Judith A. Brice.
Judith Brice is a retired Pittsburgh psychiatrist. She is the author of two collections of poems: Renditions in a Palette and Overhead from Longing.
Related
Information
This entry was posted on January 28, 2019 by Vox Populi in Environmentalism, Poetry and tagged A Bird came down the Walk, Before the Terns, birds, Judith A. Brice, Migrating Birds, nature poetry.Shortlink
https://wp.me/p4xqzG-8fkSearch
Search
Blog Stats
- 4,684,610 hits
Vox Populi 