Diane Lee Moomey
Deciduous
a ballad for Tim
Our paddles dip in unison—
we do this well together—
my bow, your stern, the dog between.
We’ve had a change of weather
and only loons are talking now.
Small snow, the empty trees,
the delicate bones of hills behind,
the black and white of these
are all around our red canoe.
Our silent maple blades
in synchronystic change-of-sides
drip with small cascades,
and circle after circle grows
across the empty lake.
Behind, a swimming beaver slaps
and wake is crossing wake.
You bring us in, I tie the lines—
the simple tasks of docking.
I’m carrying our packs ashore,
but only loons are talking.
The dos-y-dos of making camp:
we do this well together
and hammer stakes in unison,
unwrap the tent. We tether
every corner tight, we kindle
fire, cook. We meet the dark
with sleeping bag—the dog between—
our books. (She rarely barks.)
We have had other winters, true—
I always wondered, then,
about our weather, when and if
we’d see a spring again.
Beneath the trees, our pages turn;
the Coleman lantern hisses,
the dog is snoring. We exchange
the briefest goodnight kisses.
Making coffee, breaking camp—
we do this well together,
but whitecaps, wind and lowered skies
promise heavy weather.
Time Share at the Country Club
— fantasy after reading about another wildcat sighting on the Coast
Just imagine I’m a golfer. Look: you
see my ball beneath the bushes. You’re too
wild and I can smell you, wet cat—
leaves a-rustle, twigs snick snap—
you can have it! Take it where it rolled,
I’ll use another. At the ninth hole,
scooped from the cup, wet, and tawny
hairs are stuck to everything. Mornings,
you are seen to cross the green. Sand
trap—your scat! You bide your time
until the dusk, hiding in the rough.
I pack my clubs and seek the car, slam
the trunk. You hang around, shadowed. Eyes:
it’s your turn. You’ve waited long enough.
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This issue of Mezzo Cammin is also dedicated to its Founder and Managing Editor for 15 years, Dr. Kim Bridgford (1959-2020). [Photo: Marion Ettinger].
The 2021 Poetry by the Sea conference was canceled due to COVID-19. The next conference is planned for May 24-27 2022.
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| Nicole Michaud: Throughout history, both women and fruit have been popular and enduring subjects for paintings. Women are referred to as the earth in which man plants a formed seed, distancing women from their capacity as creator. Rather, women engaging in procreation utilize the male 'pollen' to create and grow the embryonic seed of future generations.
From the Nariphon of Buddhist mythology (literal fruits shaped as women's bodies and absent bones) growing from the Makkaliphon tree, to the pomegranate of Greek mythology and the apple (or fig) of Judeo-Christian writings, women and fruit have been inextricably linked for millennia. Fruit is the basis of the temptation and fall from grace of Adam and Eve in the Bible, and serves as a treacherous precursor to conflict in mythologies such as the Greek golden apple's role in beginning the Trojan War. Women's bodies and body parts are often compared to apples, pears, melons, lemons, and other fruit. This association and dehumanization of women has facilitated an enduring mistreatment, ownership, and underestimation of capacity.
Inside, transformations are happening.
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