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Valentine

“Valentine,” which Marie Harris read at the Feb. 4 Hoot open mike, is a prose poem. Prose poetry forgoes the customary line breaks we expect in poems. Although it looks like prose, the intensity of the imagery and the depth and complexity of thought earn the label “prose poem.” Of her poem, Marie said, “Every year I write a Valentine poem for my husband, Charter Weeks. The drab, cold month of February, however, is not terribly conducive to romantic notions, so sometimes my thoughts turn to the darker side of deep love: the specter of loss.”

VALENTINE



Familiar enemies have wiped out the flock of Barred Rocks,

rooster and all, save one. She carries on, fussing about in

shavings and snow, falling upon the ordinary kernel of cracked

corn as if it were a prize grub. She putters all day, settles on the

empty perch at dusk. Has she gone mad? Doesn't she realize

she is alone in her chicken world? Is it possible that I would

continue without you, mumble on, still hearing answering

noises? That the weak sun would rise and set as usual on my

busy days; that I might scarcely notice the silence, the cold?



— Marie Harris
from Weasel in the Turkey Pen,
Hanging Loose Press



Marie is a writer and editor who lives in the woods of Barrington. N. H. State Poet Laureate, 1999-2004, she is the author of four collections of poetry and two children’s books, G is for Granite and Primary Numbers. “Barred Rocks” are a variety of chicken.


— Pat Parnell, Stratham