You roll over toward me, smile, close your eyes again,
and I ease into waking the way our limbs eased into
each other, skin soft along skin, an hour or so ago.
The song from my dream plays on; women's voices
in close harmony hover over
gentle mandolin, redolent with want.
The sun now low through trees, golden shadows
murmur along the wall. When the leaves rustle, the gauzy
curtain billows, a chill breathes across the sheets.
The dog stirs, then settles. Soon he'll walk to your side,
nose you. We'll be slow to rise and dress. You'll close
the window. I'll think about measuring out rice and broth,
slicing apples, warming bread.
Outside, children are calling, Bye, Gramma, bye-bye.
Our neighbor calls in return, So long, children, safe trip home.
Her voice brims with missing them already.
(c) 2011 Diane Dolphin
(c) 2011 Diane Dolphin
"Sunday, Late Afternoon, September," was named finalist in the 2011 Naugatuck River Review 3rd Annual Poetry Contest and is included in their Winter 2012 issue.
