Green Hills Literary Lantern






Here on this errand for Rose―she calls me her “champion of errands”―

here in this room, the lamp shade maps the world’s great seas.

Framed nautical knots. Lemon-scented laminate. The Room,

he says, that’s what people dread mostthe walking into.

Leather-bound book: metal or wood?  


In a tufted chair, set just so, is where the wind kicks-up,

offs his glasses like an offing after friends,

after making arrangements. Relief is sailing to Saints:

Thomas & Kitts,

the invisible lines between islands. Cornering the bookshelf,

a bottled vessel, the agony of sails so full-up.


On this foreign shore, escape is my parked car―

parlor, guests, sonnet remembrance wind chimes,

salt of the undertaken like stains on a crumpled list.

A checkmark is my knock on Rose’s door. 


I remember Rose’s Ozone Park kitchen,

the portable suitcase victrola playing Ferrante & Teicher.

Julliard prodigies. Concert halls in ball parks,

before they became the Movie Theme twins.


Our first arrangement. Moon River.

With her chair angled like a twin piano,

Rose sang over my wrong chords played arpeggio.


Who could forget her fondness for yellow: embroidery, twinsets, cars,

how important “just so” was, her famous peach kuchen,

how she lingered over going

as in:  wherever you’re going . . .

I’m going . . . your way. Moon River.





Vivian Eyre’s poems appear and are forthcoming in Asheville Poetry Review, The Bellingham Review, Permafrost, Oberon Magazine, FRiGG, Quiddity, Coe Review, Limestone Journal, Sanskrit, Spoon River Poetry Review, and the anthology, Neu-Smoke. She has been a finalist for the Dorothy Daniels Award sponsored by the National League of American Pen Women. She lives on the North Fork of Long Island, NY.