Monday, September 30, 2013

Firewood Production

Does everyone love the seasons as much as a New Englander does? 
When I was in elementary school I wrote a poem called, “The War of Winter” and submitted it to a contest where it received honorable mention.  I loved that poem.  I wish I still had it... I guess it is a little funny that I regard the height of my literary career to be 2nd grade.  But don’t worry I haven’t given up writing poems about the seasons.  I mean, I am a New Englander after all.
This is a poem some of my favorite memories from childhood.  I wrote it as an undergraduate but that I still return and tinker with it every fall.  

Firewood Production

Opening Night begins 
When it is too dark to haul anymore.

Once a cord of wood is stacked,
The man removes his splintered gloves,
And slaps the wood chips 
To welcome

The dispossessed spiders  
Who rearrange themselves within the logs. 

The moon polishes the axe,
Like spectacles.
At last, he waxes
His philosophical introduction.

The stump sings ballads,
Accompanied by 
The moan of  mushrooms 
Mingled with decomposing leaves

Applause from squirrels,
Seated in the skunk cabbage,
Rises to the box seats.

From a fire lit window, I call
As the curtain of snow falls.


  1. Love this piece...especially the dispossessed spiders and how the trite use of "curtain of snow" is no longer trite because of the context.

  2. I am so happy to hear that you don't feel that the "curtain of snow" feels trite. I debated it for a long I do all things:)