Nuptial Agreement

WHEREAS: Neither understands the messages

danced by dragonflies; and

WHEREAS: She parts the surface-shimmer of dark

pools with a gesture; and

WHEREAS: She tidies branches tossed off by wind,

discarding the silver lichens as well; and

WHEREAS: If he could, he would comb back

into place the overturned oak        

though another storm would fell it again; and

WHEREAS: Too many sounds have been lost,       

including, but not limited to:

bird songs, fond whispers, the silken rustle

of coming and going; and 

WHEREAS: Too many sounds have replaced them,

including, but not limited to:

a set of sharp complaints, clattered

dishes, blame’s dull bass; and

WHEREAS: Nothing moves forward

and nothing remains, 

is an unsolved riddle;

NOW, THEREFORE, both parties agree

that the gray pines sway

in streaked-glass rain.

From the Desk of the Poet:

I subscribe to the notion that a poem isn’t born until it’s read aloud to another person. The feedback of other poets in my workshopping group (now 5 years out) has meant a lot, not just technically but to get at the truth of what the poem wants to say. I’m a chronic reviser, which is both good and bad. Recently, performative reading at an open mic has helped cinch for me when a poem is done. 

Alice Haines enjoys using lyric structure to discover fresh words and images. Her writing has appeared in Off the Coast, The Healing Muse, Northern New England Review, Touchstone Literary Magazine and the Maine Sunday Telegram. She is a retired family physician and lives in Maine with her husband.