Sandwich Poem For John And Sarah \ We Compare Equipment

Nancy: Every day the bay fills, empties, fills again, rises 18-20 feet, falls; the world is in constant motion, eagles, seabirds, sky.  Our appetites are astounding.

Sandwich Poem For John And Sarah

Mustards with and without turmeric,

grainy, smooth, gingered,

pale and hot, their

spoons akimbo in the jars,

and the cheeses, wedge, round,

nutty, smoked, smooth, but

none of these so bright as the

ham, the slices of tomato,

brilliant tomato, all piled on

the black iron of the stove

because we were greedy for food

back from the thickets and stones

of Race Point, the low tide

saltmarsh tang, the eagle, the arm

of land thrust into the bay, into the

cold waters spun off from Labrador

.  .  .

Wasn’t it a fine day, to walk lazily

under a sundog sky?

Alan: For a few years in the early ‘90s, a woodworker in our area produced beautiful, five-foot long, Victorian-inspired walking sticks.  I still use mine often.

We Compare Equipment

Unlike Ryokan’s bark-stripped branch,

this staff’s got breeding:

perfectly turned, steel-tipped,

fitting the hand, and balanced.

A joy to stride with,

dotting the path in perfect

four-four time.

Will I feel as he did,

some day, an old man,

seeing it hanging from the nail

unused?

“Sandwich Poem For John And Sarah” first appeared as “Sandwich Poem” in Fencing Wildness (Slow Dancer Press, 1999).