Chestertown

Chestertown

A basswood tree

one of the oldest around

is dropping its yellow leaves

they are dropping off

inside a warm fog, billowing in from off the bay.

 

Clouds of vapor are white

in the street light

and the salt water smell

has come up river covering

causeways and corn stubble

a sweet land mown.

 

Stone steps, stone streets

the tallest magnolia for miles in the square

I am taking off my jacket in the night

and looking for a dry place to sit.

 

Francis Ponge could tell you

about the yellow leaves above me

landing on a damp street

and speaking of a tree

a tree who is speaking in leaves

and become a mute

with the fog in her mouth.

 

Across the bay

far away for a child to walk

I could be sleeping tonight

waiting on a recurrent dream

I will swear begins here

under the magnolia

under the basswood leaves

falling

a pact of shared muteness.

 

March comes in everywhere light

felt before seen

heard before felt

down a street where I keep walking.

 

Everywhere light

but no snow-

the maple buds booming red

and branching choruses talking over

the young children who can walk and tumble

and mothers who must push or carry the rest

bellowing in a heard light over them all.

 

I think this dream

of snowless winter

starts here

in this warm fog and wet streets

dock smells and gulls motionless in half light

on sepia water.

 

I swear I have been here before

a first place

pushed by my mother and beginning to walk

across emerald patches of new grass

never having felt the softness and bird chattering lights

before

 

starting over and over again

every time I close my eyes.

Seeing street lamps mutter and trees opening out

and spun bright leaf dotting pictures

in a new, gentle sun

remembering nothing before that.

 

Yes, I am pretty sure

it started here once

which is why I read Ponge and his tale

of leaf dropping trees and trees speaking through leaves

leaf language

because I am leaving those days

like I fear

we are leaving winter

 

two strangers

separated

by a dream.

-Jeremy Nathan Marks

-Chestertown is a small town (and a real place) on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, sitting on the Chester River. It is a lovely spot with much character and beautiful old architecture. I often think of it as a place of possibilities and also as a spot across a bridge I can only sometimes gain passage.

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