Nostalgic it Is

Traveler

My Mother was baking Stollen
When I set out
Into the world—
With little bits of fruit in it.
(Much like a soggy spring day
It melted in my mouth.)

And so I put on my waterproofs—
The puddle-world outside my door
Seemed to be enticing.

And I learned to love the sundry fog
That came to fix my sleeping place,
And all the bullfrogs mating
In a drunken, sunken, swoon.
And fireflies domed the sky,
Every night I’d glance at them—
They would laugh
And speak to me
Of scandal ‘tween the stars.

For supper there was ham
And warm summer weather.
A little flute that I would play—
Music, music, music!—
Enticed every humpback whale
That traveled
On the sea.

Salt and smoke
From my green-tree pipe
Stung my eyes to tears

And I remembered
When I put
My waterproofs on my feet,

To step out into
The puddle-pond world
That seemed so enticing
On that soggy, spring day.