Williamstown, MA
Barely and barely able
to be seen through, these
flat wind-skimming seeds
like little microphones
can amplify the wind
in any direction. Having
persuaded one another
in casual confidence
that they will go far, they have chosen
a bad trade: what’s left
of summer for winter; osmotic
satisfaction for sporadic rain;
a life in the sun for unpredictable shade,
like the one the hurricane made.
Eleven
years ago a storm blew half the roofs
and sidings off a dozen
dozen mobile homes, and the town
made a park of it, so that these
belatedly authorised, tended, star-
shaped walks and plots over the former
residences verge or frame the plats
where this year’s last few final stalks
remain: a boy who grew up
in spotlights, running towards
and then away from fame;
or a pair of girls in the wind
at a far commuter station,
after a day hike, tired of conversation,
holding hands for the first time,
both hoping they find a way to miss their train.
Send Letters To:
The Editor
London Review of Books,
28 Little Russell Street
London, WC1A 2HN
letters@lrb.co.uk
Please include name, address, and a telephone number.
