Virginia Small

CONTACT:
Email: virginiasmall7@gmail.com

BIO:
Virginia Small of Milwaukee grew up on a dairy farm surrounded by proliferating suburbs. Much of her writing relates to landscapes, place, environmental issues and the commons.

A lifelong poet and communications professional, Virginia’s writings are published in national and regional publications. A theatrical production based on her poetry, titled “Voices in Three-Part Harmony,” was produced at Florida Studio Theatre. She has been a resident at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts and Ragdale Foundation, and has taught writing in varied venues, including Milwaukee's Woodland Pattern, Flanders Nature Center & Land Trust in Connecticut, Wildacres Retreat in North Carolina and adult literacy programs.

The author of Great Gardens of the Berkshires, Virginia has contributed chapters to other books. She served as a senior editor of Fine Gardening and director of public relations for Ringling College of Art and Design in Sarasota, Florida. 

Poetry

Ritual

Walking along the water’s edge,
waves approach, recede,
dissolve the line between lake and beach,
merge the sense of then and now.

Waves approach, recede
in rhythmic play,
merge the lines between then and now
as feet get wet when caution fades. 

In rhythmic play
waves approach, recede
as feet get wet, as caution fades.
on this familiar beach. 

Waves approach and recede
slowly, then quicker
on this familiar beach
as the sun rises. A surprise. 

Slowly, then quicker,
as waves approach, recede,
the sun rises, feels like a surprise--
yet so familiar, like this beach 

where waves approach, recede,
merge the sense of then and now--
so familiar, like this beach,
this rhythmic play.

Emerging now, a sense of then,
of approaching, receding
in rhythmic play,
of getting wet as caution fades.

HOOKED

I could not imagine then
that I could give up
all those plastic
necessities
strewn on the sidewalk,
household objects
that seemed indispensable—
every type of bottle, cup and utensil,
razors, combs, flossers--
now flotsam and jetsam.
I could not yet reckon
that it was up to me
to stop
providing a market
for countless items 
now glaring boomerang trash
splayed next to a seawall
along Lake Michigan
one April morning
after its record-setting rising—
ghastly and random
as any post-bender rubble. 

I was not ready
to deprive myself
of the oxygen
of ease.