Winter at a Summer House

by MARY BETH HINES


The walls shrink close,
the pipes heave a last shudder,
and snow seals the hush.
Ghosts huddle under blankets,
shivering through long nights
to the tap, tap, tap
of a loose shutter.

When a floorboard groans
at an unexpected touch
of light, they fling off
their covers and roam
the house, waking up others
dozing under eaves,
in closets.

They slip outside to the jetty
where one of them hovers
on the point, then dives,
and they cheer, their silvery
cries soaring as she rises
and plummets on the swells
of the white winter sea.


About the Author

A project manager by profession, Mary Beth Hines is an active member of the Farm Pond Writer’s Collective and participates in Boston-area writing workshops. Her work has recently, or will soon, appear in small press and on-line journals such as The Aurorean, Crab Orchard Review, Gyroscope Review, Muddy River Poetry Review, and The Road Not Taken, among others.

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Comments

  1. So lovely! I felt like I was there. You are an amazing poet, Mary Beth.

  2. Nice job . Really make you think the next time you drive by those summer homes on the ocean or lakes in the winter
    Cindy Doyon

  3. I always wonder what goes on in those summer homes during the winter! Seems they are occupied all year round! Cool to think about….great writing😃

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