If You’re Not From Vermont . . .

(a form change poem with thanks to David Bouchard, If You’re Not From the Prairie . . .)

If you’re not from Vermont,

You don’t know rocks.

You can’t know rocks.

Rocks, yes, rocks!

Shiny and dull, all of them count.

We love them all.

If you’re not from Vermont,

You just don’t know rocks.

If you’re not from Vermont,

You don’t know the swinging.

The breeze gets in your hair,

And the rocking could put a baby to sleep.

If you’re not from Vermont,

You don’t know me,

You just can’t know ME.

You see, my feet are the paddles in the clear water,

My heart gets tickled by the growing grass,

My hands are a frog net.

I’ve been here.

I’ve nested here.

My home is Vermont,

And I will stay here.