Coming Home, indeed

I had imagined this blog to be all prose, but a poem is what came to me, whole cloth, a draft at least. Arriving home in summer, sleeping in what we used to call "The Front Bedroom," which gets all the noise of Perry Drive and then some, especially at night, I was struck by the sound of the Drop Forge plant still in operation, and it brought back other sounds, both still present, and one that's changed. It brought back the Plath poem that I always assumed was about a similar noise, a poem that now seems a bit too operatic to me. I wouldn't say my poem is done yet, but it's what I have as I launch out here this morning.

A final draft was published on About Place, and you can read it here: