“The Swimming Hole’’ (1885), by Thomas Eakins
“Remember the way we bore our bodies to the pond
like raccoons with food to wash? Onto the blue,
smooth foil of the gift-wrapped water I slid….’’
— From “Puberty,’’ by William Matthews (1942-1997), an on-and-off New Englander
“….The exhausting mysteries
of the self grow gray on the far horizon, but
the frosted windows of the schoolhouse gleam.’’
From “Schoolboys with Dog, Winter,’’ by William Matthews (1942-1997), New England-educated poet and essayist.
Mr. Matthews spent a term as poet in residence at The {Robert} Frost Place, in Franconia, N.H.
— Photo by Schnobby
