by Elisabeth Dearborn


The grass on the path to the garden

sits still,

facing the gate.


In the evening, rain sings on the deck,

leaving a single bucket of sunflowers



With such simplicity,

everything we do





When her eighth grade English teacher, Mrs. Schlesinger, began to read poetry out loud to her third period class, Elisabeth Dearborn fell in love and secretly left a dozen yellow roses and wrote a poem about the US sending a rocket to the moon. She now lives in Putney, Vermont in a cohousing community she helped found, and writes weekly in New Hampshire with a group of women writers, meeting for more than a dozen years.

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