Summer Sanctity
Marygrace Murphy 6/15/2003
It was less like a vacation
than like
walking into a new life.
One complete,
with beds made up and cups in the pantry.
With cows next door,
and a backyard apple tree
The tough green fruit settling in the tall grass,
Going bad in peace.
The house is steeped in that peacefulness.
In the bedroom, before sleep
School and romantic troubles are a distant lie.
Stars crowd in the square of my window
Making maps and constellations
and cosmic secrets
Indecipherable, but no less
comforting for it.
Marygrace Murphy 6/15/2003
It was less like a vacation
than like
walking into a new life.
One complete,
with beds made up and cups in the pantry.
With cows next door,
and a backyard apple tree
The tough green fruit settling in the tall grass,
Going bad in peace.
The house is steeped in that peacefulness.
In the bedroom, before sleep
School and romantic troubles are a distant lie.
Stars crowd in the square of my window
Making maps and constellations
and cosmic secrets
Indecipherable, but no less
comforting for it.
The Farmhouse
Marygrace Murphy 6/15/2003
We didn't need to bring blankets
because the beds were already made
striped sheets
and a wool blanket,
folded and placed at the foot.
It was the color of yellow roses
picked days ago
And I slept with it over me,
tucked in around my knees
Absorbing its history
Musty old dreams and memories
Of strangers walking in snow
And the clear, insistent image of someone
Reading by the window.
Marygrace Murphy 6/15/2003
We didn't need to bring blankets
because the beds were already made
striped sheets
and a wool blanket,
folded and placed at the foot.
It was the color of yellow roses
picked days ago
And I slept with it over me,
tucked in around my knees
Absorbing its history
Musty old dreams and memories
Of strangers walking in snow
And the clear, insistent image of someone
Reading by the window.
Vermont
Marygrace Murphy 6/15/2003
When the clouds have gone
to live on the surface of the lake
alongside relentless fields of stiff yellow grass
I am there, dreaming
to the hushed voices of insects
and the smooth sound of the wind
Marygrace Murphy 6/15/2003
When the clouds have gone
to live on the surface of the lake
alongside relentless fields of stiff yellow grass
I am there, dreaming
to the hushed voices of insects
and the smooth sound of the wind
