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Moving Day
by Cindy McDole Vandersluis

Day-star ignites my kitchen,
walls radiant, ablaze with the
sweet canary brightness of a Sunday.

Many days have seen
the same gilt-gold light
filtered through leaves whose fluttering
still thrills.

You beckoned, years ago,
fog-shrouded, velvet hills;
wind lifted curtains to reveal
Mandarin poppies held aloft by lazy slender tendrils, and
the spell was cast.

But eucalyptus is no native here
despite its claim on the land,
and each guest must sometime take his leave before the host suggests.
Remember me — with no regrets
I leave you, made whole.










 

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