CLAY BARN
6-yr-old Sophie curls up in the lap
of grumpy old Grandpa
to listen to Grandma
read us the story of Jingle Bells. Slap-
happy Mr. Pierpont, of Medford Mass.
watching 12 skating sliders
skim frozen circles (laughter’s
elves) runs next door to Mrs. Waterman’s
– only piano in town, to test his melody
& the rest is history
she’s ready for bed, isn’t she
Sophie’s growing up fast, Henry
The tall Norway pine at the prow
of the duplex, like a mast
climbing up toward one vast
frosty galaxy, with its Xmas lights in tow
(Grandpa’s dad’s project once, long ago)
they don’t glow anymore
but the duplex lies at anchor
like every ark, Egyptian barge, Ferrara canoe
like every nave, like every churnagogue,
like every Celtic coracle –
round as a 4-leaf miracle
of Columba, or Mayflower Compact (ship’s log
of covenanted sheep’s union);
round as lightswept dome
of Hagia Sophia, or home
sweet home (clay barn, Mississippian)
12.16.19
small icon, a gift of Elena Shvarts, poet of St. Petersburg
