Produced by Maine Poetry Central and Dennis Camire

This week’s poem, a sonnet, is by Megan Grumbling of Portland and is from her book “Booker’s Point,” which won The Vasser Miller Prize.

Hemlock

Megan Grumbling       

This is the way it was, he says. Hemlock.

Some years now since he gazed up through the dark

boughs splayed above him. Rivercress beneath.

But grown, returned, he eyes the same steep reach

still green. His sights crest treetops, heights as pure

 as once. Some trees were felled, but these preserve

 the dizzy, caught-throat scale of youth, those days

 when all the world was tall. This is the way

 it was, he says. Just look at all the light

 years. Figuring the rings, spanning the height

 of awe, chin rises, jaw goes loose. So grows

 a stature, crown to eyes. The way it is,

 this ratio, sustains the way between

 man and ambit, a boy and his first trees.