John Grey

Anne, The Traveler

You’re always somewhere in New England, always in the
White or Green Mountains or the grassy hills of the Berkshires
always but just not here, so when do we meet up again –
and what’s your preferred weather- snow? spring?
crocuses firing or maples shedding red? please name
your blossom and your scent, request a day, even an hour,
my calendar really is a calendar – it makes room for
all conditions — outside and in — even rain is not a problem,
the gray gloom a mere curtain drawn around old lovers
to mat the words, soften the echo, concentrate the meaning –
heavy wind can blow, hot sun sweat, the comfort out of every
flake of skin, or fog create deception and thunder and lightning
blow all sham to pieces — you always have this business
in that town, in that building or a church or a lake and I
can’t be geography – I am here, resolutely, definitely ~
on the map, I’m a hundred thousandth of a dot –
I can’t fathom how many dots it takes to mark your territory –
so forget museums and cornfields and casinos and rowing on the Charles –
I need your immediate attention -1 can be photographed, admired,
educational, inspired, fun, historical and read up on –
and I’m all in one place


John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Midwest Quarterly, Poetry East and North Dakota Quarterly with work upcoming in South Florida Poetry Journal, Hawaii Review and the Dunes Review.

One thought on “John Grey

  1. Nice poem, impeccably written. Strong sense of loss and neglect, well communicated.

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