Kate Northrop Poems

I. Kempton, Pennsylvania


Perhaps the last of the light
...

—to my sister

Because the moon in late October made landmarks glow: the broken
gate, our yard
...

Down the hill, in the field of sweet alfalfa, they're
freezing each other, the children

playing tag and I'm up at the house, I'm
...

There was snow that afternoon covering the road
which twisted toward the secret
of water, the mysterious surge
...

Their reward is
they become innocent again,

and when they reappear in memory
...

Once in a field, in a wide rising stretch of paintbrush
& purple vetch, we stuck down

a tent, like punctuation, and drank through the evening
...

Not much of a dog yet,
that smudge in the distance, beyond the reach

of focus. It's just an impressionist
...

How can you stand it—looking at things?
For example, the geranium

out on the patio, the single pink
...