New England
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when the atmosphere changes to glass
and the air becomes so crisp and clean;
when flakes tumbling, twirling
pour out of a steel gray sky;
Maine is ME
I'm diverse.
A bit of a rocky coastline.
Blistering cold yet
Delighfully warm.
Spontaneus and changing
Like New England weather
Unpredictable. Different from the others.
I am from Grandma’s eyes
And red Russian blood
I am from the house with the white Pickett fence
the gate that never quite shut
But always felt right
I am from the rusty swing set far back in the woods
Sea fog lifting, billowing, moist morning mist.
Slug trail shimmering,
faded asphalt.
Quiet, calming, claustrophobic cellar smell.
City alleyway,
sunrise street scent.
