Moving
A poem by Marcia Mitrowski

Moving

When I left my long island, how the sky
rolled up into itself, five hundred miles

to my new location, pieces of it tucked away now at the corners of old houses

where I miss its bright eye at dusk,
unable to read its feelings, I strain left

and right searching from my little porch
for an expanse I loved, the homey familiar

under whom I knew comfort or surprise
and wide outstretched arms, even fear

when clouds accordioned themselves
without becoming a hurricane, a site

I’ll never forget until snow clouds form
over this lake wait to drop their blossoms.

About the Author:

Marcia Mitrowski is an English as a Second Language teacher working with refugees and immigrants. In her spare time, she gardens, takes nature walks, and paints. She’s also a docent at the Buffalo AKG Art Museum.

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