Mums the Word, Missoula, Montana

"...The bee, his hive, 

Well-honeyed hum,

 And Mother cuts 

 Chrysanthemums.

Like plates washed clean 

With suds, the days

 Are polished with 

A morning haze." 

- from John Updike's 'September'

Hard Used, Missoula, Montana

“…They blend along small-town streets
Like a race of giants that have faded into mere mythology.
Our eyes, washed clean of belief,
Lift incredulous to their fearsome crowns of bolts, trusses, 

struts, nuts, insulators, and such
Barnacles as compose
These weathered encrustations of electrical debris…”

From "Telephone Poles" 
by John Updike

(Click on the author's name, above, to read an insightful article on Updike's mother, also a writer.) 

Winter Sun, Hamilton, Montana

January  by John Updike
 
The days are short
The sun a spark
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.

Fat snowy footsteps
Track the floor
And parkas pile up
Near the door.

The river is
A frozen place
Held still beneath
The trees’ black lace

The sky is low.
The wind is gray.
The radiator
Purrs all day.