Poetry by Michael Carrino
Flowers through the window
William Carlos williams
lavender and yellow
I sing the poem “Nantucket” to myself as if in a waking sleep
and the children far out on the slight hillside sing along
Through the high windows of my classroom I can see them
rush in circles free and content as some might ever be
One night soon it will snow blanket the brown grass deep
become true winter and they will cherish it
My students are reading silently about anything they are willing
to read turtle bird wagon doll
rock bell shard of glass pocket watch found in the attic
how long birchwood will keep you warm
Now I see her the teacher the one who guides her children
outside every morning The teacher
I want to speak with about anything breathe the wood smoke
on her wool coat her long curling hair
In a moment I will beyond any fevered dream delight
my students with a startling recess
They will all imagine me gone sweetly crazy
Michael Carrino is a retired English lecturer at SUNY Plattsburgh, New York, where he was co-editor and poetry editor of the Saranac Review. His publications include ten books of poetry, the most recent Natural Light (Kelsay Books), and The Scent of Some Lost Pleasure (Conestoga Zen 3 Anthology).
