A-minor

by D. Walsh Gilbert

First-child born into a world of earthworm,
white birch, and ledges of granite, I was
spared the park pigeons and subway rats
Mamma escaped for our family’s sake. Listen
to the whippoorwill. Dance in daisy meadows
with the Will-o’-the-Wisp. The stars shine
brighter in dark, rural skies, rising in the east
to circle counter-clockwise to the west.

We drifted apart, Tuesday’s child, full of grace,
and Saturday’s child who works for its living.
Birth—our first great separation fell
on the night of a waning gibbous moon,
once full, then shadowing toward half.
We were one, and then, we were two.

D. Walsh Gilbert lives in Farmington, Connecticut on a former sheep farm at the foot of Talcott Mountain, previous homelands of the Tunxis peoples. She’s the author of six books of poetry, the most recent, Finches in Kilmainham (Grayson Books). She serves with Riverwood Poetry Series and is co-editor of Connecticut River Review.