David K. Leff, Essayist, Poet, Lecturer

Uhealable Hunger (Poem)

Gardens are best in winter’s slumber, paved with snow,
a few desiccated stems piercing the crust like soda straws.
But once frost loses its grip, soil’s a ticking clock nagging,
spawning toddler-like urgencies to till, fertilize, transplant,
mulch, weed, prune, and spray.

Seed catalog fantasies sprout cracked hands, a sore back
and sweat in August’s relentless bloom and ripening.  I’d
plow it all under, but spring is an unhealable hunger.
Upturned clods of earth composted with ripening dreams
and desires, this dirt wasteland is always in flower.

 

So Near, And Yet So Far: Finding the Remotest Spot in a Thickly Settled Place

Hartford Courant, April 10, 2011

Sandwiched between New York and Boston, finding a place even vaguely remote in Connecticut appears quixotic, if not impossible.  At 726 people per square mile, Connecticut is the fourth most densely  populated state in a nation where 87 people is average.

Given its geography and population, it seems the concept of remoteness in this state would have to be something other than a spatial notion.  Perhaps we need to examine places remote in time like Dudleytown in Cornwall or Gay City in Hebron that were once busy communities with schools, churches, farms and factories and have become ghost towns with only cellar holes as their epitaphs.  What could be more remote from today’s reality than once settled places reverting back to forest?