Holly St. John Bergon
My aunt in her heyday / Scanned the skies / For signs of alien life, / Her skeptical husband bemused.
For my father, Frank Neil
Each time I pull out of the driveway on my bike or in my car,
I get to choose: the inland way or the water way?
As a child, sitting in front of
the bookcases at home,
I often revisited Beth’s death,
in Little Women, that morning in May
I’m out for a walk along the bluffs overlooking Vineyard Sound / To shake off the grip of premonition, of ominous threat.
One winter I rented a house, high on a hill in Chilmark, overlooking the Atlantic. The sun came and went. The ocean changed from grey to green to blue, white caps here and there, now and then.