Lake Like Euclid Bluestone
From the Chardon Road hill, I can see the November Lake,
Gigantic and wild, the color of Euclid Bluestone,
Material for sidewalk slabs, foundations, millstones,
Quarried just a mile from here by relatives,
Refugees from the grinding poverty of Ireland--
The sky steel gray, a thousand shades, and
Lake Erie clouds rolling in from the north,
Blanketing this hard-ass city,
Spitting sleet and bitter-cold rain.
I love this wildness and toughness:
This is our history
Our present reality
Our very lives.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment