I wake to a bright night, moon resting
on the swell of the
mountain.Geese pass noisily overhead, barking
like a herd of
schnauzers.A storm spins past Galveston
another spins out of
Washingtonand yet another from Wall Street,
each leaving loss and
debrisin its wake. I listen to love songs
on the radio and try to
remember howthat felt. It's time for the long nightgown,
the flannel
sheets. Time to closethe windows against autumn. The stars
of my
generation are dying off.Somewhere, someone is bringing in
the crops.
Long ago, I helped with that,prepared meals for the field
hands,
bacon sizzling, the women talking,shelling peas, canning
peaches. Now,
I lift my food from the shelves. It hasnothing to do
with me.
UPDATE 16 September 02008: This poem has been selected for inclusion on Poet's Corner at fieralingue. Thanks, Anny!
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