This month in poetry: A cool autumn falling

Even Now   Even now, the lion sculpture at Frog Hollow,  the one made of so many old metal washers,  shines as best it can in the subdued light.  The water rushing over the falls sounds  its deep chords, playing off the wind  in the maple and linden trees, and we find the one spot of sun.    Even now, with this cool autumn falling,  we’ll walk by the river, and we’ll keep walking past houses and fields, past statues standing or fallen, through streets and over bridges, below them the merging of so many colo … (read more)

For Addison County Teachers and Staff Nothing like the principal seeing you again, after so many months, walking down our school’s stairs. Looking up and saying “You look beautiful.” As if we had been prepping, putting on make-up, in between classes, in o … (read more)

Taken         for the pickers   The apples are used to those men, their hands, their songs. Used to rolling down   their arms into baskets. Into crates. Carted off to the cold, storage house.   This month most of them will drop on their own accord. Twist … (read more)

Editor’s note: The writer responds to an item in the July 30 edition of the Independent with a poem. From “Statement on Hacking Incident at Middlebury Selectboard Meeting” July 28: “For the second time in as many weeks the Town has been confronted with th … (read more)

“Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble.” — John Lewis, 2018 Good Trouble 1960, Nashville You, John, just twenty years old How dared you demand a seat at that color-sensitized counter? Your skin, the tone of di … (read more)

The We of Rayshard Brooks   Isn’t it a privilege to fall asleep in the front seat of your car,   pass out, some nights, from a night of drinking? And not worry.   Not worry you could wake-up dead. Having been found, and not asked just   to move along. Sha … (read more)

As I sit here, a grandmother and a great-grandmother, in the middle of this pandemic, a time we have never had to deal with before, I watch how it affects so many. There are so many questions, so many fears, so many rules to get used to, it’s frustrating … (read more)

I am ashamed at what has been happening in our nation lately, disregard for human life, property and safety.   I am ashamed at being born white, living in an affluent community, attending a proper New England boarding school, attending an Ivy League Unive … (read more)

Lucy Poduschnik, a seventh grade student at Middlebury Union Middle School wrote these two poems, Her words reflect the experience that she and many of her peers are having during the COVID-19 pandemic.    Housebound   I glance out the window hoping to se … (read more)

MIDDLEBURY —  Miriam Hardy has spent the majority of her 84 years writing poetry. Like her great-aunt and her mom before her, Hardy has enjoyed writing odes to people, places and things that inspire her. But her world has shrunk considerably since the cor … (read more)

7:00 o’Clock  Pajamas on and belly full  I sat on the edge of my bed  Learning the news of my year half written  Boatloads of posts and texts and sadness Seniors crying and parents disappointed  but glad to hold on just a bit longer    How do you feel the … (read more)

    The space between The night and day The middle ground that does not stay   In the day, the shining sun pierces through my squinting eyes. Heat burns my thoughts and melts my integrity, as my body slowly fries.   In the night, the moon does naught, to … (read more)

(Trail Around Middlebury (TAM) – Chipman Hill – 4/7/20)   I sing these trails of my homeland, with elegiac footfalls  on layers of fallen foliage. A green-yellow striped garden snake  slithers and crinkles over dried leaves then freezes in camouflage.  We … (read more)

Unlocking But it is not always quiet here. Things go on while we sleep the sleep of soldiers. Ancient branches crack and splinter into dust. Large wings snap open in spring like carpets splayed out over the railing. Granite splits apart at the seams and g … (read more)

We have all become our dogs it seems, Stirring at first light To these Groundhog Day mornings, All is the same and all is different So eager for that first walk The chance of possibility, We sniff the fecund smells Of earth, lichen Moss, We give tree-dist … (read more)