The Sand Hill Review http://www.sandhillreview.org 2010
|
|
|
What She Forgot to Mention
about Winter How
the night air smells like Circe’s island, like
frangipani, and even the trees are a species of
rose, grapevines bound in precise chords across
the green hillsides. Orchards knee-deep in
mustard along I-5, forget-me-nots blue
in the ruts. Silver chains of salmon hauled
up mountain streams. Live oak, rattlesnake grass,
purple owl clover. Mt. Tamalpais, a
cubist nude in recline. Persimmons hung like
bright lanterns after the leaves have gone. Houseboats
in gypsy scarlets and azuls,
gray
gulls and torn parchment egrets. Sculls pulling
diagonals on wide, pewter water, the
bright future en face while it
pulls away. Rebecca Foust |
|
|