When they brought sheep to the island
they intended them to stay put since
the sheep aren’t swimmers.
Thirty miles out to sea, you’d think,
would be a decent buffer zone.
Where are they now?
Do their descendants still graze in secret
pockets among the dunes?
Do they gaze in mute wonder at
the new flock that walks on two legs
arriving in droves by boats
day on day
heads above water, reveling and strolling
shopping and supping
decked out in local uniforms
Do they watch
as a new breed manages to leave
at will, without having to swim a single stroke
My teen is an avid amateur historian, and she’s spent enough time on Nantucket to be able to be a tour guide. She told me, when I visited during the summer, about people bringing sheep to the island.
First Island Tourists Came for the Sheep
Tourists were as intrigued by the quaintness and romance of Nantucket's history as they were by its cool breezes and…
This is one of the poems I wrote when I was there, neck deep in a place that’s steeped in the past and a playground for the present. It’s an interesting combination of historical wonderland, tourist destination, idyllic retreat, and summer frolicking ground for the Hamptons-type set. I felt equal parts totally out of place (since I own zero articles of Lilly Pulitzer clothing and my pockets aren’t deep enough for even one night in a hotel) and right in line (as a tourist).
Thank you, readers!