Maya Stein is the poet laureate of Belfast, appointed in 2023 to a two-year term. She has been a freelance writer and editor for more than 25 years and has kept a weekly poetry practice, called 10-line Tuesday, sending out an original 10-line poem each week since June 2005. She lives in Northport. 

Maya Stein, Belfast’s poet laureate Photo courtesy of Maya Stein

If my elderly cat hasn’t already interrupted my REMs at 1:30 a.m., my perfect day begins with a sunrise viewing with my wife from Kelly Cove in Northport, which is located about 500 yards down the road from where we live. We’d each have a cup of Unrest Coffee with us, mine seasoned with half-and-half and a spoonful of brown sugar, Amy’s with oat milk and maple syrup. Back at the house, I’d finish the New York Times crossword puzzle (then Wordle, Spelling Bee, Connections and Strands), then grab my bike and head a short mile down the other direction to The Hoot for lemon-ricotta pancakes and a side of breakfast sausage and another cup of coffee, choosing from their excellent selection of mugs.

Then it’s home again to do a round of weeding in the pea gravel between the flower beds (my version of yoga) before heading out to the Rockland Breakwater, stopping on the way to pick up sandwiches and a chocolate brownie at Dot’s Market in Lincolnville, for a rocky amble to the lighthouse. Because I’m always on the hunt for offbeat attractions, I’d check my Roadside America app and wind my way toward one I hadn’t yet checked off my list, like the Wayward London Phone Booth in Edgecomb. I’m also a sucker for small-town main streets, and I never like to go back the same way I came, so I’d find an alternate route home and park in front of an appealing shop to purchase a small locally made souvenir (like, say, one of Tara Morin’s tiny vases – I cannot resist anything miniature).

The Rockland Breakwater, as seen in 2020. Michele McDonald photo 

Once home, I’d pack a cooler and beach chairs and meet up with friends for an outdoor concert at Belfast Summer Nights. Afterward, we’d stroll the Belfast Harbor Walk and cross the pedestrian bridge, then stop for a cone at Wild Cow Creamery.

If we had it in us, I’d invite everyone back to the house, and we’d play a few rounds of a mah-jongg, which I’ve only recently learned how to play. I’d make rooibos tea and put out a plate of graham crackers. By then, I’d be cooked, so once everyone left, I’d only get a few pages of a novel read before turning out the light. Peanut (the aforementioned elderly cat) would climb up on my chest and fall asleep and, for a few hours, all would be blissful. Then she’d undoubtedly wake me up and insist on a snack and I’d reluctantly get up, feed her, then try to lull myself back to dreamland by playing medium-level Sudoku. If it was a perfect day, I’d succeed.