Personal Residency In Riverfront Housing

 

 

Yacht tutelage, beams of shoulder-length

Waves striking at the chipped tin-roof

Of ornament—brief depiction of the ceaseless

Rainouts in a solitary landscape.  Of roses

 

We chatter, no immunity, melting in water

Pelting into foregrounds of secular speech-

Impediment, her breasts and his toupee,

The millionth renovation up for grabs.

 

To live in Maine would have the direct

Consequence of beautifying flesh-riddled

Fish nets, stalking slicker-kept fishermen

With their gummy sea fingers and passion

For sea air.  Jet-lagged outback with rain

Fronts appeasing an early bird alarm.  Two-ton

Seagulls barking at a semi automatic fog.

 

A poet, a directed poet, finessing these

Lines the poet within me necessitates

Beautifying all that is close—and in

Front of those kelp-riddled planks,

Gnarled to museum Odyssean perfection,

Stands a silhouette of greater than

The realistic, according to my way

Of viewing things in Maine.

 

In a sallow, shivering, stone clad afternoon,

To throw oneself into wave stalks striking at

A chipped tooth; thrown into a breathy

Tide, with the clipped unwanted scallops,

Scattered crumbs of solace based on

Rhythmic wave-speech: sea fingers

And a passion for work, in Maine.

 

To throw oneself into one’s work,

To throw myself into beautification,

 

Serendipitous, shallow, cowardly

Kept in a littered Nabokovian cottage

Where the strawberry girls run wild

Through systemized Kmart sprinklers.

 

Julia Istomina