Life on Monhegan
just a taste … brought us, me, back to life.
The cold breath
of wintering hearts. Over.
I miss Monhegan Island. If I could fly, sewn feathers -tightly worn…
Instead, I sit
I did not meet Judith Pontura. Her book, stacked on a store shelf. The lady, behind the register, well, I asked her, had Judith signed any books? She had. A signature tucked away, book behind the counter. I bought it. I like to see the handwriting on the wall.
I opened the pages -again this morning. And an address, a P.O. Box with 04852 zip code. A name attached. Judith. Now Weber. Was this her? Had the cash-register lady given me her address? How, days pass. We forget the impact, never notice an island sprawled all over the desk. Mapped out-meticulously.
You remind me. Smell.
Monhegan May 2016