By Virginia Nygard
Vero Beach Branch, Florida
The Pequonnock River wandered south
from Great Hollow Lake through Connecticut
until it paused to catch its breath at Sylvan Beach
and lolled about to swim with each of us
in Bunnell’s Pond at Beardsley Park
The first time we met I can’t recall
I was a tadpole of a year or two
safe in the water on Daddy’s broad shoulders
safe from the fearsome frivolity splashing around
so I’m told by fading photos on worn album pages
I recall favorite lunches Mama packed
egg and tuna sandwiches and fruit
lemonade and oatmeal cookies
all as wonderful as the day
except for the wait to swim after we ate
Then came the awkward years of ten or twelve or so
when we’d go by ourselves or in small groups
Swimming was not now the name of the game
It became popularity and cliques
and gave us a glimpse of the grownup world
Sylvan Beach is long since gone
swallowed by the state’s Route Eight,
but still the invincible Pequonnock flows
past hikers and fishermen and bikers
but there are no swimmers now in Bunnell’s Pond
Wistful and moving. The poet expresses insights into the stages of life that ring clear and true. She expresses the universal longing we feel for that which is gone.
Very skillfully executed.
Claire Massey
NALPW Poetry Editor
How sad and beautiful.
Interesting time frames and contrasts.
Ginny,
Love your poem :Burnell’s Pond,” so rich and warm and wonderful in memory. And I love you! I’m living back in Florida now and active in the Cape Canaveral branch.
Virginia,
My husband is from Stratford and the Beardsley name is a family name. He also went to Bunnell HS. Small world. Your poem brings back memories. I bet you might have visited the wonderful Savin Rock park in West Haven. We have some longtime friends from there and have heard about it.