Thursday, 12 September 2013

there were Adirondack chairs

there were Adirondack chairs
in our backyard 
and when we left,

I passed them along to my sister
and she scattered them, randomly, 
around the grounds
of the camp in Northern Ontario 

and when she sent me pictures
of how lovely they looked there . . .

I smiled: 

so comforting to think of them
ensconced serenely, holding my memories
- and new ones - through four seasons

season after season
year after year

in moss and colored leaves,
piled in snow shimmers - 
raindrops, plopping gently
on the green coat of paint 

I gave them,

to chip away time . . .
like tree rings

I remember eating raspberries
and sipping beer in those Adirondack chairs 
under a black velvet canopy
filled with spark pin points of stars

– so many and so close –
you could reach out and capture them 
in splayed fingers

I remember humming at the end of the evening

and, even now,
when it is time to put children to bed,

in wafts of summer’s end,

I hum to my grandchildren
and, for a moment, 
those Adirondack chairs,
come to mind – like faded photographs.

photo:  Adirondack Chairs – W. Bourke

© 2013 Wendy Bourke


  1. I like how you allow readers to get to know you and your life through your poems.

    Usually a certain phrase or two particularly pop out for me. This time:

    holding my memories

    the green coat of paint
    I gave them


  2. and, I too, spot little glimmers of your past and your present in your lovely pieces, Janet.

  3. This conjures such warmth and comfort for me as a reader. I'm smiling, feeling it, like I'm looking through a scrapbook of lovely memories. Wonderful Wendy.

  4. Thanks, Jennifer - what a lovely comment.