Academic journal article Hecate

Mountain Village in September

Academic journal article Hecate

Mountain Village in September

Article excerpt

This blue-eyed, shutter-faced world of stone

that motionless kills time,

in coffee cups and circular refrains,

in bells that never tire of counting hours,

wants to know:

my name,

and in what precise relationship I stand

to its universe of family connections;

my situation,

meaning where my orbit circumscribes

the still point of its square,

my age and income, marital degree,

and why I seem so restless

when I've only just arrived.

Lacking any pedigree,

a stranger's right I seek:

to worm-strung apples, mildewed

walnuts, figs burst open by the rain;

blackberries, rosehips, shrivelled grapes

the housekeepers left behind,

now that summer's over

now the hardy few remain.

I say:

love is the force that draws me here,

love, and a kind of hunger

for a semblance of belonging

to a village just like you.

Ah. Love,

the village ponders, is not

quite the same as belonging. …

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