August 2016
While my three children were young, I wrote just enough poetry to give me an inkling that I might have an aptitude for it, but I wasn’t brave enough to throw my earning potential aside until my family was grown and I’d worked for a number of years. As time went on, I came to regret not having devoted myself to writing much earlier in life. The “now or never” decision came about 20 years ago—my late-in-life career—and the process of creating a poem still gives me enormous satisfaction. I’m gratified that my poetry is widely published in the small press and equally gratified by becoming part of a larger community of writers. For my publishing credits:
lindamfischer.com
lindamfischer.com
August, Ocean City
The streets are quiet early enough—
a lone jogger, the flap of a flag
as the wind picks up from shore—
tang of salt and sea buffeting
tiered rows of condos, the perennial
lure to families bent on escaping
the city’s heat, if only for a week,
as we are. The car packed,
it’s au revoir once more—
lazy days receding as we pull
against the tide and head for home.
September Again
September again, on schedule:
the mornings a little cooler,
acorns puddling up against
the curb. You left as you came,
a seasoned traveler with one
carry-on, carrying away
the last of our holiday together
along with your passport and return
ticket. Your departure feels
as abrupt as tearing August
off the calendar, the rush to get
you to the airport on time
like Isabel, the storm that flicked
its tail and left us without
power for a night. Fall
would seem to be prompt this
year, close upon your heels—
its advent as sure and swift.
-first published in The Blue Mouse
©2016 Linda M. Fischer
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell him or her. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is the beginning of community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -FF