Dream Farm, Dream Sea

I have been thinking about this poem for more than a week. It was published in Santa Clara Review fall/winter 2001-2002, but I wrote it about a walk I took with my sister Kathy when my niece Terra was a baby. Terra is now 24 years old and has a baby of her own. 

On Sunday, June 3, I was able to walk with the surveyor and my sister Sharyl across the farm, or across the approximate boundaries of my nephew's ten acres. The property is located about an hour's drive from the Pacific coast.

dream farm, dream sea

Poised on the cusp between winter and spring
Weird neon of skunk cabbage holds candles

In cupped hands. We move through memory, water
Skippers across the old face of childhood,

A landscape where moss
Knows no direction, will not point

North or South. Children dance
Bright faces silvery fish

Shafts of light, dark pillars of trees.
Air electric with birdsong. The pond

Blinks a green eye. We pass the baby
Between us. Her arms row us into the light.


  1. I like the imagery in this poem. I agree that children grow up fast. It seems like just yesterday, I held my niece Isabella in my arms when she was a baby. Now, she's nine years old. She's in Florida, and I'm in Wyoming so we don't see each other very often. Unfortunately, we haven't developed the relationship I hoped we would when she was a baby.

  2. I have a niece named Isabella! -- my great niece -- she's called Izzy and is now one year old. I'm fascinated by the ebb and flow of my relationships with my nieces and nephews. I don't see them often enough, but when I do it is always intense. I wish that for you, too.


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