Northern New England Review Volume 42 | 2022
Northern New England Review is published as a creative voice for the Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine region. NNER publishes writers and artists who live in, are from, or have connections to Vermont, New Hampshire, or Maine. If you live here, were once from here, lost or found your heart here, or are currently searching for it among the green hills, sparkling ponds, and rocky coasts, NNER has the poems, short fiction, and creative nonfiction you want to read. Northern New England Review is edited and designed by students and faculty at Franklin Pierce University in Rindge, New Hampshire. Questions can be sent to Margot Douaihy, editor, at douaihym@franklinpierce.edu.
Northern New England Review is published as a creative voice for the Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine region. NNER publishes writers and artists who live in, are from, or have connections to Vermont, New Hampshire, or Maine. If you live here, were once from here, lost or found your heart here, or are currently searching for it among the green hills, sparkling ponds, and rocky coasts, NNER has the poems, short fiction, and creative nonfiction you want to read.
Northern New England Review is edited and designed by students and faculty at Franklin Pierce University in Rindge, New Hampshire. Questions can be sent to Margot Douaihy, editor, at douaihym@franklinpierce.edu.
You also want an ePaper? Increase the reach of your titles
YUMPU automatically turns print PDFs into web optimized ePapers that Google loves.
Robert Paul Allen
A POEM ON CHRISTINA’S WORLD
Inspired by Andrew Wyeth's painting
My family’s afraid my face will scare the kids,
one side’s sort of stoved in.
Even the doc looks the other way
when he comes to check me over.
No one’s supposed to know about me,
but secrets have their way of slithering out.
I can’t do much for myself. Grandma thinks,
God shouldn’t have let me live.
I’ve longed to see past the ridge,
for as far back as I can remember.
Mama forgot to lock my door,
she’d be angry, I crawled out here.
My legs and arms pulled me
farther than I thought. Now, heading home,
they’re like jelly. In spite of that, the view down
below made me want to keep on going.
As I lay there, taking it all in,
every dazzling little bit of it,
a world of sweet-smelling Timothy Hay
murmured ‘n swayed for me alone.
52 | ROBERT PAUL ALLEN
Change language