November 2017
Donna Reis
freshpoetry@earthlink.net
I live in the Hudson Valley with my husband, musician and composer, Tom Miller.  I'm happily retired from teaching Special Education, and spend my days doing what I love: writing, quilting and gardening.  My debut poetry collection, No Passing Zone, was published in December, 2012 by Deerbrook Editions. Recently, my poems have appeared in OxMag, Evening Street Review and the e-zine, www.thefuriousgazelle.com.  For more information please visit my website: www.donnareis.com.

​Grey Rock, Squirrel Island

         A camera pans across an island off Maine,
         and zooms in on the clippity clop of metal
         cart wheels clamoring down a boardwalk.

As we haul suitcases from the ferry, 
we recognize the perfect opening
for a horror film. Tom makes up a story
on the spot about a family who vacation
in the wrong house. I jump in, the owners
come home and murder them one by one— 
or should the vacationers murder the family?
We pull our cart, stenciled Grey Rock,
to Tom's cousin's house. Wheee, I'm the
happiest of campers, because we're not
camping! The harbor glistens topaz
through wavy-glassed windows. Porches
wrap-around sun porches that wrap around
yellow, floral sitting rooms, ancient hooked rugs,
and stone fireplaces. There's a butler's pantry,
servants' quarters, a nursery with a tiny sink,
and balcony after balcony. I sink into a claw-foot
tub with a glass of wine to drink in the sunset.
Mornings, I harvest beach glass while T. cooks
omelets and reads The New York Times.
Evenings, our friends light hurricane lamps,
and serve Caprese salad and pasta in a dining room
so large, we have to walk around the table
to pass the platters.  Afternoons, we hike
island paths, as cawing crows alert each other
to late season intruders and cats regard
us as thieves. The island caretaker trundles
toward us in his golf-cart, his Newfie riding
shot-gun. Tom chats him up, wondering why
none of his cousins appear in the photos
propped on side tables throughout the house.
Bemused, the caretaker remarks,
Because you're not in your cousin's house;
you're in the McGuire's. Grey Rock
is only two doors down, not three.
©2017 Donna Reis
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