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"From the Back Porch at Timber Ridge" - Poems by Antoinette Cusumano


Updated on Feb 16, 2013

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From the Back Porch at Timber Ridge


Morning fog has lifted to reveal
only more gray. Glimpsed
between the needled branches of the young
fir trees, the flat, colorless sky becomes a stream
of lace - the kind the elderly wear around their necks
to hide the lines of age.


Golden clusters of flowers
have faded hanging limp from branches.
The young burst up like fireworks
announcing a new season will come.


The sturdy picket fence
has been taken over by the grey, knobby vine.
At the top, feathery sprays
hold clusters of golden honeysuckle bells
offering their hearts to the anxious humming birds.


Low, gnarled, arthritic branches struggle
up, finally forming a lush, green canopy. New
shoots go - charging, marching,
their golden parade hats held high.


Across the road,
limber birch - flickering
leaves, patterning lights and darks forever
changing tree forms - always stark white
trunks holding firm. Beyond it all, shadows
across the low vast pasture.


Hazy clouds across the darkened sky
making faces on the suddenly unpleasant
moon - new shadows in the stand of Redwoods.

Antoinette Cusumano
Antoinette Cusumano

Photo by Drew Knapp
New York, 2005
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