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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 7, Number 4, December 2013

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Dru Philippou
Taos, New Mexico, USA


“In Maine”

At any moment, I expected to see sunlight ruffled by ocean, a boat bringing the day’s catch to shore, children in bright swimsuits, launching paper boats by the water’s edge.

But broad daylight fell silently on beach plums, heavy with clusters of ripened fruit. The wing-print of a gull vanished in the sky.

I cannot remember how far I drove before turning back. The road ran forever and to nowhere. When I returned, I could not find it again.

wearing the brooch
my mother wore before me
what was not said
remains like tumbled shells
on the shore

Even when I describe the wireless telephone poles, no one can point the way.


Author's Note: See “Road in Maine,” the painting by Edward Hopper (1914), here.

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