Green Hills Literary Lantern


Northwest Passage


My brother and I are reading

in easy chairs, my uncle at his desk,

my aunt with a book. We're spread out


in the after dusk in furniture

the color of the deer we visit in a meadow.

An absorbed silence spreads like strawberries,


sturdied with a clock condensing seconds

like a lemonade glass, backed up

by the grandfather's bass on the landing.


Quarried slate tips the sidewalk around the corner

that rustling maples shade for moss

on the sedimentary basement.


The mountains have blocked the street ends,

pulled on shadows for pajamas.

Home is a weak light mist happily obscures.





Bob Elmendorf has been published in 50 magazines including 4 poems in the current issue of Little Star and 3 in the upcoming Neologism. He gives infrequent readings and was in poetry workshops for 20 years. He has been teaching Vergil, Catullus, Ovid and Horace and New Testament Greek pro bono to home school teens the last 12 years.