Late summer
this year
me and you
up behind the house
how the ever-baring raspberries
ripened every day
we never
thought they'd
quit making us happy.

Pickle the cat
with her eternal
rambunctiousness
would crouch
under the peach tree
waiting for frog activity.
Sometimes I would
confuse her with
our concrete Buddha.
Surely I'd rub both bellies.

Back when I could
hang my laundry
among the fading
goldenrod or deepening tomatoes
without frost on my mind.
So instead it was the
dew I waited through
listening to our own
quail and a frazzled
chicken our neighbor
finally took in.

Every moment I tried
to capture with paint
I learned that some things
are truly impossible,
that the cabbage white butterflies
and the question marks and commas
transform before me
into locust leaves or flakes of frost and snow
everything changes so quickly
that very reason
is why I paint in complimentary colors.
I see red so I paint green.
Nothing remains. We all are shadows
testifying to yesterday.

This is such a beautiful ode to remembered summer! I hope you put poems like this aside in a specific folder for your next chapbook.
Comment by Anna Thu Nov 14 21:33:38 2013
You were one of the two most important you's in the backyard with me this summer. (the other one Mom) Thank you so much for your comment. I've been waiting for it.
Comment by maggie Thu Nov 14 21:52:15 2013