Vox Populi
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Molly Fisk: Suffer No Fools
The Apple Orchards of Sebastopol
I woke in the dark
and watched light rise up
behind the trees, pale gray
to a backlit lemon yellow
turning gold and unlikely
blue, the colors blossoming,
taking on intensity, black-green
cedars, neon new growth
outlining the maples’ arms.
Why did this turn my heart
to a day of driving two-lanes
one early summer, vineyards
sloping down toward the west,
mustard bright on verges,
and that strange sight blurring
as I passed the rows on rows
of Gravensteins — I had to stop
and climb a fence — a hundred
little milk cartons, waxy, red
and white, the kind from grade
school cafeterias, each packed
with hard cement and a silver hook
to hang it from the lowest branches.
They were young trees, not gnarled.
There was no farmer to inquire
of, no internet, I still don’t know
if this promoted extra fruit
or made the picking easier
or something else. Don’t tell me.
What I hold close is the memory
of mystery and my delight.
~~~
Suffer No Fools
I love humans, their inventiveness and laughter
wedded to practicality. A perfect example:
this wheelbarrow (everything depends) made
scarecrow, up-ended on its rubber-boot clad handles,
leaning nonchalantly against a post with gardening
gloves poked onto the triangular struts, an unlikely
felt hat balanced atop the wheel itself.
It doesn’t look anything like a person even if
you squint hard, the way a farmer would gaze
into the middle distance, over his rail fence toward
the farthest field and his herd grazing peacefully there,
assuring himself all is well, leaning his back
into the splintered wood, bending his knees
to take the weight off. You can hear the cicadas.
You can hear the future beginning to rev
its big diesel engine, preparing to mow us all down.
~~~~
Copyright 2025 Molly Fisk
Molly Fisk’s many books include a collection of humorous essays Naming your Teeth. Her book of linked poems set in 1875, Walking Wheel, is forthcoming in March, 2026 from Red Hen Press.
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I have loved Molly’s poems since I first encountered one and these are more of her exquisite view of the world. Thank you so much for bringing her to this page for us to enjoy.
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She is a very intelligent writer. Her language is precise and her metaphors exact.
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Molly really knows that of which she speaks, even when the purpose of those cement-laden milk cartons remains a mystery.
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Oh, yes.
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I love Molly Fisk’s poems!
Even though, or because:
“You can hear the cicadas.
You can hear the future beginning to rev
its big diesel engine, preparing to mow us all down.”
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I love Molly’s poems too.
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Oh, those last lines! (In both poems for different reasons.) Wonderful!
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Thank you so much everyone! I have loved that Kinnell line for a long time. And light, well… something to watch as fascination and solace. xo
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My bedroom window frames the heart of my old jacaranda tree, and through its branches, a sky I never tire watching; so Molly Fisk’s perfect & patient description of the morning light allowed me a few extra moments of aubade delight! Then that wheelbarrow — such a perfect homage to the thing with its human accoutrements, and its exquisitely observed details & imagery. The last line, a shiver…
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“a few extra moments of aubade delight” would make a great poem title.
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Lovely note, Laure-Anne.
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Word paintings. Thank you, Molly, for giving me a beautiful start to the work day!
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When I awoke this morning, there was that golden quality outside my window, mostly missed lately because of shades down or me falling back to sleep. I found Molly through Vox Populi, and this morning, seeing her name, the golden morning got a little better.
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Molly is great. Her poems always bring joy to me.
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Molly Fisk: master of metaphor and imagery.
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indeed!
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Two stunners. As I read the Apple Orchards… it reminded me of Galway Kinnell’s lines:
Sometimes it is necessary/ To reteach a thing its loveliness.
Molly Fisk teaches that loveliness once again, even as things are lifted up or weighed down, or the diesel demonstrates scant compassion.
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Yes, Kinnell’s lines fit.
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Molly Fisk is a human lighthouse in the poetry world. I only now entered the ocean she oversees, and found my way by her shining.
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lovely conceit. Thank you!
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Delightful to wake in the dark and read these poems at the day’s start.
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Nice place to start the day…
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