NF HouseWhen bulldozers tore down the Maine
Family house, I was there, solemnity
Of death bed and funeral, few phone
Photos as workers encircled steel cable
Noose around the foundation, as the
Bulldozer pulled, fatal loop tightened.
Within crumbling moments, our house
Was reduced to rubble. By day’s end,
Rocky lot was cleared, grass seed sown,
Our family home memory.

As young Maine woman, where does one
Go from here? Family moved to Bangor,
New modular house, fabricated walls
Erected in days not weeks, high-pitched,
Reinforced roof, wiring and wifi, satellite
TV, concrete driveway, three days for
Landscaping, turf laid, shrubs planted
And mulched. Beached in my sterile
Bedroom, my view was neighbor’s SUV
And treeless, immaculate lawn.

Forced to sell my outboard skiff, family
Was sending me away to school, letters
Behind my name – or find a rented house-
Trailer on Deer Isle back roads. Yes, I had
Other plans. After several evenings on-
Line, I found a roommate, older island
Woman, muscled and inked, with her
Own house and lobster boat, 45-minute
Ferry boat ride out of Bass Harbor.

"Ferry ride out of Bass Harbor..."
“Ferry boat ride out of Bass Harbor…”

Yes, I knew my compass heading. Her
Photo said volumes about preferences.
Mine were about to change. She needed
Able sternman. Few months I turned 20,
She was sea-weathered 35, sisters by day,
Lovers at night. Everyone knew. Neither
Of us cared. We may last few months,
Maybe few years. We belonged to each
Other, water and land, two island women,
Living in her Maine family home.

Poem of life decisions: working on the water, preferences,
and d
efining home — for some, new compass headings,
and hauling lobster traps in Maine.    

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