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Written during a four week stay in my old neighborhood on the island of Martha's Vineyard
The wide porch with
its green wicker furniture
looks out on the little park
that splits the street.
Great gnarled oak trees
stand guard over
the weathered benches
scattered here and there.
Veterans these oaks are,
many with amputated limbs
after untold years of
nor’easters and hurricanes,
but still standing tall.
A new generation of squirrels
plays tag up and down
the trunks and branches.
I pretend I am on my old porch
(just a few blocks away),
sitting on the blue and white
striped cushions of my glider,
looking out at the park
with its great oaks that
split that street in two.
Now I am a visitor; I refuse
to say I am a tourist.
I am still an islander,
though I now live far away.
Copyright © Barbara Peckham | Year Posted 2021
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