Heat kicks on at dawn —
September almost over.
Here we go again.
At six the dog barks —
either wanting to go out
or just say hello.
Meanwhile, in my dream
John McCain and I fist-bump.
“New York Times!” he says.
Crows chase each other
around the yard like children.
I should get up soon.
Am I saddest when
lonely, or happiest
alone? Or, both?
It’s just one moment
after another — a string
of pearls. With no clasp.
This morning’s motto:
waking into the person
I turned out to be.
—Donald Nitchie
Donald Nitchie occasionally leads poetry-writing workshops on the Island. The next will be focused on haiku and/or haiku-like poems, at the Edgartown library, in November.
