Letter to the Editor: Reflecting on Israel and Palestine

“Who wouldn’t want/to be led back to their century/their tent their house of stones?”

“Finding Hope Within” is a new exhibit at the Henry Sheldon Museum of Vermont History that features a collection of writings and artwork produced by incarcerated men and women in Vermont.

Where is the woodcutter’s youngest son,/ the poor widow’s clever daughter? Surely/ somewhere there’s an enchanted sword, a prince/ in bear’s clothing, a talking cat, a key/ to a secret door. Isn’t there a lamp?

In high-summer evening-light four barefoot Amish/ kids bend, pulling weeds from their garden./ My mother looks at them from the car window, smiles/ at the young woman on the porch who holds a baby close.

Let me note this morning I came/ across a coin, I thought, crossing/ Tully Road. Once a path for local/ soldiers. Farmers mostly. And nut/ gatherers. Its face looked more like/ a quarter. Washington’s. Until I looked/ more closely. Actually kneeled down.

So you want power?/ You want control?/ And when you have it?/ And when people all over/ are living in fear and hate?/ What then will they think of you?

Never thought you’d sing/ her name./ A girl you never knew. Swaying/ with a stadium of strangers…

Not that you or I couldn’t have stood/ on our feet. For twenty-four hours./ Speaking impassionately./ Sat in a chair. Lain in a bed./ Reading words cast on a ceiling./ Rising, as we could, to the occasion…

Good night, Ilsley, our old friend./ With thanks and admiration\ we’ll watch with eager eyes and hearts/ your budding transformation.

There’s something happening, don’t you think?/ Do you feel it under the brown crusted snow,/ under the wanting to break sky.

It’s not my place to suggest/ to your coach, she bus you/ to one of our Addison County/ farms. If you have to be in/ the Field House this early,/ you might as well see/ what’s going on around you.

As our political realities continue to shift in unexpected and unwanted ways, the writer has had several conversations with friends and family about where their thoughts are. A surprising number talked about stocking up on items, just in case. Those conve … (read more)

I’m so low on the priority list/ I’m almost trackless./ I don’t use stealth./ I don’t scramble my signals./ I don’t have a double message.

Oh my director of the national/ portrait gallery/ of owls./ Oh what I wouldn’t give for you/ to leave your doors/ open. For me not to have to/ remember any glass/ painting the streets.

David Weinstock has been the shepherd of several poetry groups, including the Otter Creek Poetry Workshop, which has met every Thursday (except Thanksgiving) for the past 27 years.