I’ve heard hello like a whisper
half out of its holster.
Snow says it that way.
Bells go crazy with it, driving
pigeons out of the steeple.
Hello, hello, I do, I do.
Watching our beautiful neighbor
go by in snow boots,
I shout and wave.
Hello has a way,
if I don’t hurry,
of turning into goodbye.
Up close I say hello
and I have told her
everything I know.
George Mills
A retired anthropology professor-turned-landscaper, the quixotic George Mills was a well-loved figure in the Vineyard poetry community. Until his death in 2001, George and his wife Florrie shared a small home in Oak Bluffs, where they hosted frequent gatherings of poets, musicians, activists, and other thinkers.