New England Woods

The woods of New England
are not like the woods of the south.

In the south, we have large
groves of oaks whose antebellum
roots still sprawl where plantation
homes once burned.

In the south, we have yellow
pine forests whose needled
beds hide coral snakes
and small town teenage trysts.

In the south, we have swamps
whose mix of moss and fog
help ghosts and alligators
both appear and disappear without warning.

But in the north, you have
Irving Washington filling
your bundles of sticks with our
child nation's greatest stories.

You have Robert Frost, covering
your empty acreage with snow

You have Arthur Miller letting
loose witches into your barren woods.

And driving, as I am now,
on the slow road from New York
to Bethesda, I can't help but
see your fictions swirl about
dead branches, like the fall
we wish we had.