Enveloping Fog
Janet Kuypers
4/13/23 (edited from section 4 of the 1993 poem “One Summer”,
or the 2013 poem “One Summer Traveled”)
I never imagined how beautiful
The east coast could be,
Rolling hills curling one state into another.
We’d drive up a hill in your
Rusted and dented yellow truck;
I would lift my head, my chin as high as I could
In anticipation to try to see the other side,
The sloping down of those rolling hills.
I remember walking along the beach in Maine,
Restored buildings lining the rocky shore,
The fog so thick
You couldn’t see fifty feet in front of you.
And people were suntanning.
I even photographed the lighthouse —
That enveloping fog,
They just shine light and I can barely see —
How do they these lighthouses
Work in the fog like this?
It’s so thick,
Thick like the cigarette smoke coming from
the inside of your truck when we would drive
to antique shops on the border of
New Hampshire.
Thick, like a powerful force overcoming someone,
That holds you there, that doesn't let go.
Like us.
|
