I’ve lived in Connecticut for a little over eight years now, after having lived more than 30 years in Rhode Island and exploring almost every inch of that tiny, quirky state. Today, I still have no clue where most cities are located in Connecticut, and I have to GPS them all the time only to realize I’m more than two hours away from a good chunk of them.

With that said, I love living where I do — still close enough to Rhode Island, close to the beaches, right off I-95, and close to my grandchildren. I recently had a poem selected for an anthology of poems about Connecticut, and it just came in the mail this weekend! The Nutmeg Anthology: Contemporary Poems of Connecticut, edited by Ginny Lowe Connors, includes 78 poems that look at the state from all different angles: from special memories of the past, historical figures and places, and the ever-present land, water, and weather.

My poem, “For Those Who Must” is dedicated to the staff at the Lyman Allyn Art Museum, where I worked part-time for five years. I remember wanting to work part-time in a bookstore or an art museum when I retired, so I got my wish! I enjoyed working at the front desk, where I talked to visitors two days a week because everyone who walked in the door wanted to be there — and I learned so much about art and artists.

My thanks to Ginny Connors and Grayson Books for including my poem. The cover art is beautiful, and I’ve enjoyed the variety of poems and learning more about my adopted state.

For Those Who Must
For the staff at the Ly man Allyn Art Museum, New London, CT

I have watched an artist hang her canvases
with breathless care—unswaddling her work
like infants from family quilts—but who attended
her own opening with reluctant dread.

I have listened to daughters tell stories
of their artist mother, whose paintings once hung
in their childhood home, and how they cried
upon seeing her art on a gallery wall for the first time.

I have gazed through a magnifying glass
to focus on ink strokes as fine as cilia
in miniatures painted by eighteenth century sisters,
one of whom went blind after years of plying her trade.

I have interrogated a roomful of abstracts
that smash and trash and rehash
boxed conventions of beauty and truth
while standing in awe of countless hues of blue. 

I have searched newsclips about a 22-year-old artist
who jumped off a train in New London,
where she gave drawing lessons to the city’s children
and collected their coins to feed her passion.

I, too, have tasted an artist’s need to create—
it is the dark pit that sprouts into tender vines
despite row upon row of infertile fields.
is the must that burdens us—and unburdens us.

The Nutmeg Anthology: Contemporary Poems of Connecticut, Grayson Books, 2026