I was at the family homestead for an overnight on Sunday. It snowed overnight and we woke up to beautiful, wet snow frozen to the tree branches. It reminded me of the poem I wrote in 1998, published in the Duxbury Clipper in 1999, for a Freshman level poetry class. 98% of the class was about analyzing poetry, and this 2% of the class asked of us to write a poem. Great! We memorized poetry in high school. It was hard enough analyzing the stuff, now you want me to create one of my own? Well, the final result, after much revising, was this gem that appears below. Throughout the next 6 or 7 years I would go on to write more poems, become a member of the poetry circle, daring to read some of my creations to a small audience in the basement of the student center.
My Bog
All around me lies the red sea.
A sea of cranberries,
Floating and bobbing.
As I watch the sunset,
The men finish their work.
In rubber suspender pants
Like lumberjacks,
They wade through the flooded bog.
Corralling the cranberries,
They drag the last bunch to the trucks.
These ‘cran-jacks’ are tired,
And happy to head home.
It is night.
The geese’s calls are jarring
Like the sounds of a busy street.
Controlling and patrolling
The bog while the ‘cran-jacks’
Sleep soundly,
These strutting geese are proud.
They eat and clack
In their little all night café
Until, with stomachs full,
They leave in a noisy burst of
Feathers and flapping wings.
Light shines through my window.
It is now morning.
I smell the bread,
My brother scooped the berries.
My mother mixed and baked.
Oh, that intoxicating aroma
Of fresh bread!
I hold a piece and look outside.
The ‘cran-jacks’ are back to work.
Geese fly through the air.
Children run about the bog
As I sit and eat.
Tart, tangy flavors
Fill me with warmth and love.
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Kara Jackman 