San Juan Street
Doves
Mourning doves own the distance
both spellings at first sun, a sadness,
they call daybreak at Ebeltoft
in Hanne’s beach house. Coffee
and rondestykke, a Danish morgen
eight years ago. Here, they
break the peace near shore,
our roof is ravens at five a.m.
a staging area between Libbey
Farm and their nest in the tall fir
near Fort Ebey. It’s a downhill glide
for the fledglings. The sleek beak
to gutter and not so gentle tapping.
This is us, this window to the Straits,
ocean, and sea enough forever.
Woodsmoke through Fog
Day three, an albino deer
eyes the dog from the field
near shore, slant west
fog drapes Port Angeles hills,
land’s end opens to the Straits,
Pacific expanse humbles,
as drift would blanch a beach log
this world enough without us.
At six a.m. the station wagon
delivers the paper to the salmon
and cinnamon house, it sits empty,
this is the news, shades pale blue
horizon then thin clouds close
cousins in paint chip tiers, gray over
Vancouver Island’s tip, a gray
lighter than last night’s close
on the Washington shore where
the south mouth whispers sea.
The edge continues the touch
and go. Doherty’s woodsmoke rises
through fog, he knows the road
to Forks and other ways out.
This record with the raven chorus
horizon runs to Victoria.
The Neighbors
these are stratified hills,
small places below the view
spots up the rise, no goldfinch
considers the economy,
the Cooper’s hawk spends
a day tangling with crows
without regard for tax base,
location, location, location,
one flight path is better than
another. Regular gun fire echoes
from Libbey Rd. near the trailer
with a shingle turret and additions
at each end. This is forest Morse
for Audis passing from Oceanside
Estates. The rise and fall
of economies means nothing
to the barking dog, the nine dead
cars and boat safe in its front yard.
Mid-west of the Island
The flag lifts toward Coupeville,
the barred owl calls. The last tree
on San Juan Street marks the Straits,
all seasons onshore winds push
toward Penn Cove like a fast train
to Toby’s Tavern for a bucket
of mussels. We shake the aches
with coffee, meditation, and write
postcards as if we were beautiful.
The Democracy
Kenmore Air’s first flight to Victoria
passed an hour ago, shoreline navigation,
visibility ten miles. We could wave a flag,
they might put down pontoons at Libbey
Beach, take Cam to the Empress for tea.
We pack for escape, we can row to Canada.
Grounded
Sparrows search the screen vents
under the eaves for nesting places.
A doe and buck trim the front
lawn, we are all statues it seems.
Last night on the walk near the cliffs
a mother quail scolds from the ridge
of a shed, its side houses
an abandoned chicken coop.
Under
Out the back window
the rabbits are land dolphins,
they surface and disappear
in the green peace of Libbey
Farm garden. Our neighbor’s
six foot fence keeps the deer
bedded down in the shade
of their orchard, I imagine
a cartoon balloon over the buck’s
head: The landing craft have arrived.
Local fare
Three Sisters Market sells
3 Bees Bakery gluten free
cinnamon rolls, lemon bars
and XL Tee shirts—the back-
room is wall coolers with local
meats. Every stop is a cautionary
tale in island traffic. Blocks
from this corner a semi made
a drive-thru of the north wall
of the Pottery Shop.
Near the head of Penn Cove
it may not be the gluten
that gets you. On our after dinner
walk the ferry is midway to Port
Townsend, we chat with an old man
fishing for silvers at the Landing, his
shore-casts are the evening action
as the tide changes before sunset.
A Bell Buoy
We mark the day
Cam says, feels like fall,
& it’s been said, we sat
on the porch for the sunset
in long-sleeve shirts
drinking cups of decaf.
The weather report says
not so fast, & promises
three or four days of heat.
The serenity prayer plays
an endless loop in my head,
I am not sure, this might be
an AA meeting & what I
thought fog is smoke,
still accept & change rise
in this humidity,
serenity is like a fog horn
from some distant ship.
Kevin Miller is most recently the author of Spring Meditation, published by MoonPath Press in 2022. His collection Vanish won the Wandering Aengus Press publication award in 2019. He taught in the public schools of Washington State for 39 years. He lives near Coupeville, Washington.
Read more poetry by Kevin Miller appearing in Terrain.org: one poem, “Smoke and Mirrors,” a poem in four parts, Letter to America poem, and four poems.
Header photo of Coupeville, Washington, by Joel Askey, courtesy Shutterstock. Photo of Kevin Miller by Cammie Miller.
