Volume 12, 2012

Dream States

Mary Gardner

Yesterday,
I shut the pool shed door,
slid the lockbar into place,
pulled a dandelion from the step,

paused, let the warm sun of late August
close my eyes. I replayed summer . . .

quiet laps in the pool, sharing its cool respite; children splashing
in life jackets; late suppers under the pergola roof, miniature lights
and citronella, fireflies in the dark; lying on a chaise lounge
under the night sky—a distant plane, a meteor at 3 a.m.;
bats doing whatever bats do . . .

I can see that grief lightens
in the repeat of things,

ordinary things, season to season, like sight lines lengthening
at the bend in the road, the way ahead more certain,
the familiar assured.

Summer slips into autumn—
        something about the air, the sun’s red cast, the same a year ago.
Like drapes drawn at sunset, colors unfold around the lake.
Goldenrod, purple asters and winterberry line the roads,
garden tubs of mums and zinnias near the door . . .
        companions for a new season.

Back to Volume 12, Table of Contents

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