Poetry

After last danger of frost is past

                                 From planting directions on a seed packet

                                 For my brother

 

After last danger of frost is past,

 

after the final skim of ice leaves the surface of the pond,

 

after the mirrors of dew disappear in the clear light and

the stilled grasses lie down for your pallet,

 

after the fox and the sparrow and the deer gather around you,

 

after the winds cease and the seas calm and the struggles of this world 

slip away into the woods at the edge of the field,

 

you will rest                 at last

                                      at last, rest 

 

you will rest                 at last

                                       at last   rest

Linda Buckmaster

Linda Buckmaster has lived within a block of the Atlantic most of her life, growing up in “Space Coast” Florida during the Sixties and living in midcoast Maine for forty years. Her poetry, essay, and fiction have appeared in over forty journals. Two pieces were “Notable Essays” in Best American Essays 2013 and 2020. She has held residencies at Vermont Studios Center, Atlantic Center for the Arts, and Obras Foundation, among others. Her hybrid memoir, Space Heart. A Memoir in Stages, was published by Burrow Press in 2018. Her latest hybrid, Elemental. A Miscellany of Salt Cod and Islands (Huntress Press 2022), is a response to the beauties and realities of islands across the North Atlantic.

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