It was called Big Island,
\nbut was only a patch of woods
\nand marsh at the end of the bay.
\nSkiffs were sometimes seen
\nmoving among the marsh grass.
\nPeople fished there in peace.
\nWhy a spot becomes isolated in a town
\nor along the traffic of a road
\nis always a story.
\nAlways a mystery that keeps to itself.<\/p>\n
Dad knew the whole history of the place.
\nWhy people went there and left.
\nIt had the quality of a house
\nleft to itself.
\nAn abandoned place where the wind
\nblew through the door,
\nand no one shut it.
\nWhen my grandmother grew old
\nand wandered in her thoughts,
\nDad thought, with his brother Si,
\nto build a little house there for her,
\nwhere she could tend a table,
\nand boil her coffee.
\nKeep house as it were
\nuntil there was nothing left
\nbut shadows,
\nlike the color of pewter,
\nsoft, with twilight inside it.
\nWhere there\u2019s no place to go.
\nNo idea to play with.<\/p>\n
I go to Big Island,
\nwhere there is marsh grass,
\nand some protection by the City
\nnow to keep it.
\nAnd I can put my arm around
\nNan\u2019s shoulders,
\nand look through the reeds, at the bay,
\nand say to myself and my grandmother,
\nthis is a good place for pillows
\nand dreams,
\nand somehow
\nwhat the world is made of in ourselves.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It was called Big Island, but was only a patch of woods and marsh at the end of the bay. Skiffs were sometimes seen moving…<\/p>\n