Evening Poem, August 12, 2014

The Day Will Come

 

“The day will come,

The preacher says

And I drive home,

Through the changing maples and oaks

Thinking about a couple of jobs around the house:

Clean the brick below the shutters

Rake the last of the leaves

Especially out of that patch out back

That was supposed to have been our garden.

I think of sunny October

And unseasonably warm November days

Late mornings and early afternoons

Forget the Almanac’s warnings

Those good days always come

There are always plenty of them.

And they come

And I drink every yellow drop of them

Working at my own pace

T-shirt and jeans

Till the front lawn in the cool twilight

Is a clean-swept carpet

A curried slope

Its contours vivid now

With not a dry leaf to hide them

And I, sun-tanned in autumn,

Rejoice and exult

In work completed

and satisfactory results

this time knowable, quantifiable, visible

and know that I will get

that garden patch in the back

next good, warm day.

But, instead, November comes

Real November, this time

With floods and now snow

And the time of salvation is past.

 

 

copyright 2014

This entry was posted in beauty, blogging, creative process, literature, modern poetry, new voices, new writers, poetry, poets, summer, writers, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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