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TWO POEMS BY MARGARET D. SMITH

Pavel talks to me over lunch

My farmhouse is away, so far from Prague
there are no planes, not even cars.

You can hear everything that way.
The pigeons make love on rooftops,

workers talk in fields,
bees make sounds like music far off.

My grandfather loved bees.
He left Prague to live in that farmhouse

to raise bees: bees in boxes, bees in fields.
When he died he left me his farmhouse.

The first time I stepped inside after he was gone,
rooms were dark, my shoes hollow,

and all I could smell
was honey.

Yes

A flying squirrel only falls slowly….
A sun is a star, but not all stars are suns.
Waves move in light. Grass grows down.
All those names of things we had been given
were not true, not true, but somehow yes.
We don’t know what, but maybe
there is a name somewhere.

TALKING WITH MARGARET D. SMITH AT “THE EAGLE AND CHILD”

Talking about poetry with Margaret D. Smith is like jumping into a pile of autumn leaves. By the end of the conversation, there are beautiful observations scattered everywhere, and you want to preserve each one.

Publishing a conversation with her is like raking those leaves back into a pile, so I can give you a turn jumping.

Margaret’s latest poetry collection is entitled Barn Swallow. You can purchase it from the author: But you don’t have to read the poems to enjoy our conversation here. I enjoy corresponding with Margaret via email because her responses are worth saving and sharing. And her blog is a chronicle of seemingly ordinary moments… moments she shares in her own particular way so that they come alive.

When I proposed this interview, Margaret responded with one of her bright ideas. What if each message we sent to each other ended with a question… not just from the interviewer, but also from the interviewee?

I might have tried to answer her questions. But as I read her replies, I thought it might be better just to let her questions hang in the air… something for the reader to take away and think about.

So here we go…

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