Sam A. Flanagan

In mid-May: A passing rain opens the day. Finally, on cue, the evening sun, Casts colored light across the tops of trees, And peers through the kitchen window, Suddenly weaving the day Into a great, hushing pause. Even the hissing whispers of grandma’s gossip, Under cast iron clangs, ceramic dings, And the thwaps of the […]

How we were drawn into this light, Released from bedtime curfews, And freed from morning’s grasp: Those signatories of winter With their dark ink now all blurred and faded. In this light, We might hear the rhythm of seasons, Or trace the day’s soft edge. Maybe rediscover the contours of our soul, Or we might […]

All of this happens before. Misty mornings, Where trees, hills and chance skies Trace soft lines against The long edge of summer, Glistening perfectly, On stale afternoons Before evening rises again, Bathing us in its long, quiet pause. . None of this can be undone. The daily rhythm, Pulsing softly, Then snapped, While heat furrows […]

Here, Moored by the soft calling turns Of a river now purposed by rain, We can linger in that patient lapse Between the miseries of drought And the sudden electricity of flood. The Chinook-crazed bankies Hunker in closet cigarettes Debating spoon and roe, While the Copenhagen sages of Weymouth Share chit chat smiles of angst, […]

Wild, curly haired kids still chase candy-colored rocks Across old sea floors, dotted with dandelions, And the long yawn of summer gone stale, All gathered up, into that rusty pail. . This, After swings in trees, and secret swimming holes, down long, easy roads, And soothing us with walermelon dreams, And holding hands, head in […]

Gone is December’s method, Practiced under the gauze Of coming storms And long mornings, finally Duped into evening’s silent coup. Now, January, Chilled cradle to summer’s unborn, Giving way to the hiss Of slick, cold waters And their emerald rumors, Of rocks and shadows And silvery ghosts in big, new worlds.

A child’s echo across the field, Wafting on sun and warmth, Hovering for a moment, lingering. Like a long time ago, That one laugh, Wild, excited discovery, Stirs an afternoon nap, however brief. When new light finds the old window again, And traces the hard line of rain across the sky, Marking the place where […]

She starts slowly, Her hands, circling gestures, hinting to far off places: Familiar, In the way that long gone memories suddenly reappear, New and old, As the eyes of a newborn might tell. Her story moves, Along the lines of his sweaty brow: Furrows of dusty habits, streaked and stale. And his face: a worn […]

Away from the coast, for several days in June, Where the river bends broad and wide, Spring holds on, Giving way to an old vibrancy still lingering in the valley. A chance morning rain: warm, brief, light as a whisper, Sharpening the songs of birds and painting the last flowers across fields Between dwellings added […]