While Here Down East the Whey, Still, Goes Into the Gingerbread

While Here Down East the Whey, Still, Goes Into the Gingerbread

The boughs, aromatic as the resin myrrh for The Birth,

have been tipped and wreathed by love-driven hands.

Their sole profits being pitch-stuck, blistered, prayed with.

Offered. Trucked by convoy heading out from Harrington,

from the Worcester Company down Washington County, down the wine-

looking blueberry heath, south-west toward the hereafter.

Last of the historic traffic to blow kisses on their roll

through Bucksport thanking the old Waldo-Hancock one more time, its weights

and nights numbered next to the feat now spanning the humming mouth

of the Penobscot, its honor guard prouder than proud the whole hard

east coast road to Arlington.

Another Christmas grieving evergreen lives

how much better we are at graves.

Patricia Ranzoni lives in Bucksport. Her most recent collection of poetry is “Only Human” published by Sheltering Pines Press.