By. Gail Sandonato

I drove through the deep caverns of Maine's North Woods
Secret, cool, hidden from the summer heat
Following trails of deer and bear
Until, with a sudden rattle and lunge,
I burst through into the sun's bright glare
And I


The remains of the forest lay across my eyes
Like carrion dregs rotting in the sun,
Ripped up, bruised, violated.

I saw a whale beach itself once,
Sung to sleep by his pod's dirge.

This felt the same.

But no sweet poetry of despair;
Just violence across the mountain
And no one, but me, to sing it home.

Gail Sandonato is a poet and grandmother. Gail spent ten years living on a mountain in Central Maine, honing her craft. She has been writing poetry since she could put pen to paper, a very long time indeed. Some of Gail’s work has been published in books and newspapers. She now lives in the Boston area.