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featured poets & artists


pam broido

is an ASL instructor and program coordinator from Durham, NH.



In the Midwest
the roads run straight
like fields of corn, or wheat, or oats
predictable and orderly,

Phone lines run
along the road
standing in predictable rows
like soldiers
carrying orders
or gossip
or news of grandmas illness.

The skies are big,
the sunsets broad
and forever.
Rain falls in straight lines
like the cornfields
that wave every morning
to the sunrise
that runs
from horizon line to horizon line.

Here in the East
there are rocks and jagged edges.
Seafoam worn boulders
that guard the shore,
and horizon lines
interrupted by
mountains, beach shanties, buoys,
and the lone fisherman bringing in
his catch of lobster for his families
dinner along the pier.

The lobster is cooked
from black to red,
cracked and dipped into butter.
The mother in jeans
with sunbleached hair
and sea-leathered skin
steams the corn
bought at the market,
grown in Indiana
in straight rows
where the sunsets
stretch from
horizon line to horizon line.

The family often comments
on how sweet and straight
are the kernels.
And wonder if
they eat lobster in


Two Trees

There were once two trees
small and immature.
They each competed for the light,
at times complementing the view
at times sheltering each other
from the rain.

Today two trees
stand crowded in the garden,
each taking needed nutrients
from the other;
for the soil
is not rich enough
to support them both.

It is time to transplant
one of them
says the gardener
or they both will die.
This soil is not
rich enough
to support
them both.



Ocean Waves
Endlessly cascading
Against rocks
Splitting open
Granite wedges
In an eternal instant.
An igneous monolith
Sighs and
Into two.

How I envy its surrender!

My brain rattles
And chatters
With thoughts
That clatter over
Well-worn train tracks
Of mind.

From the platform of
Self I watch
The thought-lights
Strobe past
Into the cavernous night
Where a tunnel
Swallows the rail
In a single gulp.

How I envy its appetite!

A single gull
Perches in wait
On the shore.
Ocean Kissing
Its webbed feet.
Cormorant eyes
Dart playfully
Along the surf
Patiently awaiting
the side crawl
Of dinner moving.

How I envy its patience!

There is no hurry

Only waves,
A crab, and the
With every kiss
of the Sea.

And I notice that
my train track mind
has been
into an eternal moment
where an endless
Perfect Sea
has birthed me into
a cavernous
moonless night
where there is no envy at all.

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