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
Musings Photography Poetry anxiety counsel depression dreamscapes forgiveness friendship grace hope journey joy Judith Ponturo listening well love maturity meaning of life mental well-being my promise garden patience poetry prayer suicide this writing life who am I