Judith Chalmer’s imagery will take you from the cherry-patterned oilcloth to the thunder of nearby hills in her poem, “Purpose.”
Judith Chalmer
Purpose
I'm pretty sure I'm not contributing,
exactly. With this. Firewood
heaved into the open hatch of the car,
a tackle box rummaged with spoons
and an oddity of knives,
a neighborly clatter of dishes.
None of these, for instance, would
answer the question, what do you do?
I'm watching the young trees
at the edge of the pond, two maples
and a beech, hold their angled pose
like dancers, without fatigue. Last night
. . .
