Catharine Savage Brosman has crafted a volume of epigrammatic verse dedicated to landscape and stone, monument and mountain,...
Winter in the Ruins
That sleepy winter on the Cape,
we sucked glacial pebbles.
Sea-wracked waves dragged from the sands
the porcelain arm of a retired doll.
The clapboard village kept its ghosts
at bay in the crook of the bay.
The seafood shoppe in sight of the sea
hired a forty-pound lobster as its mascot.
The old iambic roar raged, sands blowing
through shattered archways, over toppled
columns, the hardpan of a Roman road.
So much of the modern lay before us,
we could not see it coming.
William Logan is the author of Dickinson’s Nerves, Frost’s Woods: Poetry in the Shadow of the Past.
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