By Barb Whitmarsh
Bayou City Branch, Texas
Note: Paumonok is the name the American Indians gave to Long Island.
Is it still as I remember
Suns golder than Tut’s mask
Redder than blood on the trauma room floor
More orange than pumpkin fields out east
In late October
And afternoon breezes
Are they stirring the trees
Pushing sailors on course
Is moonlight getting caught in the eelers’ pots
And Sagittarius shooting arrows into eternity
O, how I miss the bay nights
The throaty frogs
The fox scurrying in the shadows
My memories of Paumonok must suffice
No one knows I speak of things irreplaceable
Ponds here are lame against the moon’s tug
And wild flocks cannot intoxicate me like a beach rose
Evening winds tease the hardwoods
But nothing shakes the scrub pines
For here there are none.
Excellent poem! I love the imagery and the reminiscing.
This is an outstanding tribute to the lands where I dwelled and grew. Home never leaves your heart. Absolutely perfectly done, Ms. Whitmarsh. Thank you.
Ah, Long Island. I grew up their, too, Barb. Your poem captures so beautifully the land, the air, the sights. I found this link thanks to you and know I never really learned much of this history growing up. In gr. 7 back then we studied the history of NY but it was much broader. I spent much time in East Hampton in the 1950s with my grandparents and extended family and we would go clamming and out to Montauk to Hither Hills. I always miss it. It is so vastly different now. Makes me sad in that I wish East Hampton was the sleepy village of my memory, but I understand “progress”. And its draw. Thanks for this poem. I will want to read it again and again.
Here is the link: http://longwood.k12.ny.us/community/longwood_journey/hamlets/middle_island/footnotes_to_long_island_history/book_10/thirteen_indian_tribes_once_inhabited_long_island
THANK YOU JANET, SO VERY MUCH.