Nerves
1.
Is that a sunrise or a sunset
You ask pointing to the photo
On the waiting room wall
We look together at the scene:
Reflected in calm waters
Gold and orange
Grey cumulonimbus
No birds No fish
Calm
I notice a boat near the endless horizon
a trawler the photographer included
for perspective
2.
You sit on the grey padded table
Feet dangling
White paper crinkling each time you move
You make a Batman joke
and pull the cape like gown
more tightly around you
I shift on the blue vinyl chair
want to stand near you
Sink my fear in small talk
3.
Like a duck’s egg
the Dr. says, for perspective
But Easy peasy, in and out
You re-dress
I bundle the gown
drop it into a bin
Let’s go find that sunrise
You say and reach for my hand
What if it’s sunset, I ask
It’s not, you say
It can’t be
On the Cloudy Shore of Lake Michigan
(Questions I would ask Virginia Woolf)
Cold, I bury my feet in the sand under the water’s edge,
I tuck my toes beneath the water-smoothed stones.
Was your breath heavy when you stepped into the waves?
Up the beach a man in canvas chinos
strides through the huddling flock of gulls,
Had you been there before?
White feathered bodies lift into the buffeting wind,
resettling in his wake to hug the sun-warmth held in the sand.
Did you notice the fish? Or the nightingale songs?
Out beyond the breakwater two angling figures stand
loose-hipped in a motored dory, casting for Brown Trout,
Did you float, water ebbing away the voices?
I know they are men by the set of their shoulders.
They sway with the rise and fall of the whitecaps.
Is it possible to have more pockets than hope?
Instructions for Sunrise on Core Sound
Bring
─ camera
─ fresh coffee
─ water proof shoes
─ the joy of being aged
well beyond curfews and backyard sleepovers
Dress warm
this is not the leeward side
Follow the path that wends
between white oaks and scrub
Lift a stick
Wand away the hovering silks
woven to catch
the feasts of morning
Move quick ─ Orion fades ─
Break through the tree line
step into the antelucan hush
Oystercatchers and plovers feed
in thick cordgrass and needle rush
Blue black water holds the night
Sky flattens as it greys toward dawn
Reach for my hand
Ann Hart is a poet, writer, and teacher in Central Illinois. She enjoys reading, traveling, kayaking, and spending time on deserted beaches. Her work can be found in many publications including Silver Birch Press, The Vehicle, Rattle.com, and The Tomato Slices Anthology. She was the 2016 Winner Champaign-Urbana Mass Transit District Poetry on the Bus.
1.
Is that a sunrise or a sunset
You ask pointing to the photo
On the waiting room wall
We look together at the scene:
Reflected in calm waters
Gold and orange
Grey cumulonimbus
No birds No fish
Calm
I notice a boat near the endless horizon
a trawler the photographer included
for perspective
2.
You sit on the grey padded table
Feet dangling
White paper crinkling each time you move
You make a Batman joke
and pull the cape like gown
more tightly around you
I shift on the blue vinyl chair
want to stand near you
Sink my fear in small talk
3.
Like a duck’s egg
the Dr. says, for perspective
But Easy peasy, in and out
You re-dress
I bundle the gown
drop it into a bin
Let’s go find that sunrise
You say and reach for my hand
What if it’s sunset, I ask
It’s not, you say
It can’t be
On the Cloudy Shore of Lake Michigan
(Questions I would ask Virginia Woolf)
Cold, I bury my feet in the sand under the water’s edge,
I tuck my toes beneath the water-smoothed stones.
Was your breath heavy when you stepped into the waves?
Up the beach a man in canvas chinos
strides through the huddling flock of gulls,
Had you been there before?
White feathered bodies lift into the buffeting wind,
resettling in his wake to hug the sun-warmth held in the sand.
Did you notice the fish? Or the nightingale songs?
Out beyond the breakwater two angling figures stand
loose-hipped in a motored dory, casting for Brown Trout,
Did you float, water ebbing away the voices?
I know they are men by the set of their shoulders.
They sway with the rise and fall of the whitecaps.
Is it possible to have more pockets than hope?
Instructions for Sunrise on Core Sound
Bring
─ camera
─ fresh coffee
─ water proof shoes
─ the joy of being aged
well beyond curfews and backyard sleepovers
Dress warm
this is not the leeward side
Follow the path that wends
between white oaks and scrub
Lift a stick
Wand away the hovering silks
woven to catch
the feasts of morning
Move quick ─ Orion fades ─
Break through the tree line
step into the antelucan hush
Oystercatchers and plovers feed
in thick cordgrass and needle rush
Blue black water holds the night
Sky flattens as it greys toward dawn
Reach for my hand
Ann Hart is a poet, writer, and teacher in Central Illinois. She enjoys reading, traveling, kayaking, and spending time on deserted beaches. Her work can be found in many publications including Silver Birch Press, The Vehicle, Rattle.com, and The Tomato Slices Anthology. She was the 2016 Winner Champaign-Urbana Mass Transit District Poetry on the Bus.