New in April 2016
The Shady Sisters


New in 2014
Acts of Balance


New Historical Novel:
    Queens Never
    Make Bargains


    Questions for
    Midnight Fires


Walking into the Wild
Broken Strings


Nancy's Backstory


Ruth Willmarth


Nancy's Books:
Mad Season
Harvest of Bones
Poison Apples
Stolen Honey
Fire and Ice
Mad Cow     Nightmare
The above 5 novels in print, and now
e-books, Belgrave House.
The Losing


Nancy's Books for Children:
The Pea Soup

Agatha Award 2006
Best Children's/YA Novel
Down the Strings
The Great Circus
    Train Robbery

Agatha Finalist


Make Your Own
Vermonters at
    their Craft


Buy Books
Find an Agent
How I Write
An Interview with
Another Interview
    with Nancy
Brief Bio For Busy Librarians (and other readers)
Contact Nancy

Nancy Means Wright


    She drives into a frieze of blue hills, peel,
    of ochre paint on Longey's store, Bronson's boats
    off-keel: across from the white church
    the Foote Sisters' stand of snap beans; swerves
    before an oncoming Dodge into Cider Mill Road—
    the Adirondacks fall faint in the West.

    Apple trees twist on their roots at the old place:
    Sheep's Nose grafted onto MacIntosh—
    will it take? Blackeyed Susan and Sweet Brier
    in the driveway: the stalled tractor,
    pickup parked sideways, there's no room
    for the red Subaru. Inside, the old sofas shock,

    sink still leaks; the tiger cat rubs her legs,
    wants food: she bends to the habit. On the table
    a woman's straw hat; curtains
    new in the windows, kill the view.

    She packs her books: Edgeworth,
    Wollstonecraft, the old romances picked up
    in second hand bookstores; steals
    upstairs, a ghost in blue denim, grabs
    a quilt, wicker wastebasket, white linen
    sheets they'd lain on (she walked out bare‑
    handed). Quiet in the attic is thick as old
    blankets, the sweater her grandmother wore
    against the sea winds ripped on the edges:

    she winds it close. Her shoulder bones
    squeeze as she gropes her way down again,
    down where the cat squeals, wind gutters,
    old boards creak (step on a crack, you're
    dead). The screen door bangs on her heels. She
    halts. Something's left behind? Never
    mind. Already she tastes salt: Fay's off…

by Nancy Means Wright                   


Published in Green Mountains Review/Pudding House


© Copyright 2001 - 2014, Nancy Means Wright. All rights reserved.

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