Dragonfly Press Logo     The Montserrat Review Logo

Marge Piercy — Leapfrog Press

Summer cottages for rent


It was magical to sit in someone else's
chairs, eat at their table on their
worn flowered dishes, to sleep
in their sagging musty strange bed.

Log cabins. Ramshackle clapboard.
On small or big lakes, weedy,
pebbly or sandy bottomed.
Always there was a rowboat.

My father fished. My mother
and I splashed (we could
not swim). We played rummy
and pinochle through long

evenings mosquito quired
slow as moss, happy
as if we were drunk
on the loose from Detroit.

One summer I picked cherries
a quarter a basket. My
arms and shoulders ached
all night. Up near Traverse

City, white sand dunes
and the sour bright red cherries
staining my hands. I loved
them, I grow them still.

It was the magic of abundance,
fruit that grew on trees,
pies from the bright blue sky.
Groceries out of bark.

For two weeks we lay in a grass
hammock stretched between firs.
Then back to amphetamine roar,
bodies riding the bloody gears.


Want to read more? Choose More Poetry

Copyright © 1999-2011 Dragonfly Press. All rights reserved. ISSN 1097-7473