by Jeanette Reid

From the deck I watch you drive away
as low clouds rim with gold above the sea.

Ten days of walks along the shore wrapped
warm against the wind, the beach our own—

vast ocean, endless sand, unending sky,
the sound alive with geese and winter

swans afloat on frigid waters, their
kwooing murmurs musical and wild.

The road is silent now and empty. Why so
bereft? I’ll see you in ten days, days of musing

solo walks as my mind surfs for word shells
to echo back my heart. Aimless, I move inside,

pile breakfast dishes in the sink,
lift your mug, still warm with coffee.

Cupped in both palms, I press it to my chest.

After a career teaching English in secondary schools and writing, Jeanette Reid moved to the mountains of North Carolina where writing has become her focus—short fiction and, more recently, poetry. She finds the music and nuance of words fascinating, as well as the power of language to express and communicate what we notice and feel and connect with in our lives.

About Sunrise—I’ve always been sensitive to my environs, both in the natural and material world, but largely in an intuitive way, and I’ve noticed that my writing often revolves around a sense of place. Writing poetry has led me to be more observational of the concrete details of the world that produce those immediate responses. When I analyze my process, it seems to go something like this: a quickening or undefined awareness of something in me that is being spoken to by something in my surroundings; then a pausing to notice what objects are actually there that might be contributing; then long walks and periods of musing (“moodling,” as Brenda Ueland calls it) to discover the personal insight or discovery that is unfolding.

In this way, poetry has helped me to pay more attention to the outer world and explore more fully the world of inner experience. “Sunrise” came out of such an experience in which the writing of the poem helped me to process an immediate sense of loss and an unsettling mixture of feelings