TONSET ROAD
Listen, to bramble, pine and cove;
Heron and the lapse of empty sailboats;
Stones, acorns and swooshing grass.
Tonset Road,
the rushing in of parenthood,
waters white-capping,
overhead and within. Something
under the surface exists
in one long inhale.
Tap in.
Tap in.
Tap in.
▹
One triangle
cuts the blue cove.
I suppose
I could end here.
Bright orange hat,
blue blanket,
I see them
through the glass
of a sliding door.
Black suit,
holding a body.
A mother’s body.
Curved, soft,
pale for September.
I thought,
I’d sit
on the Adirondack
over hardhack,
over grass.
Listening to crickets,
and the hum
of a bedroom fan.
Somebody walks
along
the shore.
His sunglasses
are warm
blooded
and his polo
is short.
Fairies exist;
My family
isn’t dying
to know
my occupation,
at dinner
over bread.
Why don’t we speak,
when we talk?
Do you know,
they’re not listening?
Sophistication,
I might try
and fit that
into baby’s mouth.
and feathers?
Stuff it thick
in fatty milk,
during an afternoon
drowsy
feed
ing,
how well
are you feeling them
on momma’s favorite sweater?
Why do I speak differently
than I paint?
Do I remove peas,
make spit-up
more safe?
Red-faced cry
with no teeth,
she’s cute when she
side-smiles
then goes back to sleep.
Fiona's breath moving
her body up
then down.
Rain
falling
down
a
window.
I try napping to
this tumult
on shore.
The
whole
house
waking.
Being.
Be,
ing.
Remember feeling
textile. Remember
laughing
with K, L, M.
Remember
the color pink.
Remember
the rising sun,
over water.
The rising sun
over water,
lovely water
guide me
in towards reflection,
why is it that we dance
like rocking chairs, and we sing
like helms,
wind creaking
through a broken window.
Curse the day you were not born.
There isn’t a moment
you weren’t alive,
here now,
all around.
Glory, the sun!
B e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e
ing
I am a bee,
COO?
Torment no body.
I walk outside
and notice
how green
the grass looks. At the water,
I think I am enough. I see a stone.
I ask what its purpose is to me. I see moss
growing on it. Waves wiping away shells
that clung to it. I wonder how to create
like it, in water, with water, of water.
I, stone.
Stone, I.
We belong.
I am.
Explore more videos, photos, and collective media at
colleenjaggivisual.com/Tonset Road.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the Lavelle family for your generous welcome to Tonset Road.
Thank you Holly Wren Spaulding, Kat Farrell-Davis, and the poets at Salt Lines Retreat in Maine for your ear and encouragement.
To Angad, and little Fi, for believing in the unseen.
Collected Media of Tonset Road
Explore photos and videos of Tonset Road.
Tonset Road
September 2024