Sunday, Late Afternoon, September

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

"Sunday, Late Afternoon, September," was  named finalist in the 2011 Naugatuck River Review 3^rd Annual Poetry Contest and is included in their Winter 2012 issue.