Among
by Cynthia Hardy
a half dozen poems:
five about sky—darkening,
flattening, dampered by cloud.
Gray in all varieties
now. The dark shadow
of bark below fir
branches, the pale
trim of snow edging all.
We dream of color,
of tropical gardens, all
red, yellow, purple, green.
You say, Are you
dreaming? I say, Not really,
then tell all I remember:
a sea, deep blue, the white
collars of foam, the motion
and relentless sweep towards
brown sugar sand.
​
The same
water tosses a boat around
as I wander from deck to deck,
down dim corridors, leaning
on tilting walls. I am looking
for you, or someone like you,
and ride the bounce and shift
like a tilt-a-whirl.
You drift there—in and out
of focus—but I find you
in every room.
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​
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One of a series of poems I wrote during the Covid lockdown period in Zoom meetings with Hippies in the Attic, a group of writers based in Green Bay, WI included in Rude Weather (Salmon Poetry, Ireland, forthcoming). It’s partly a reflection on a recurring theme in my poems, including the weather and the sky, snow, and the porousness of the boundary between poetry and dreams.
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CINDY HARDY writes from Chena Ridge, Fairbanks, Alaska. She has published poetry and fiction, with a new poetry collection, Rude Weather forthcoming from Salmon Poetry.