Passing Afternoon
There are times that walk from youLike some passing afternoonSummer warmed the open window of her honeymoon
And she chose a yard to burnBut the ground remembers herWooden spoons, her children stir her Bougainvillea blooms
There are things that drift awayLike our endless numbered daysAutumn blew the quilt right off the perfect bed she made
And she's chosen to believeIn the hymns her mother singsSunday pulls its children from their piles of fallen leaves
There are sailing ships that passAll our bodies in the grassSpringtime calls her children until she lets them go at last
And she's chosen where to beThough she's lost her wedding ringSomewhere near her misplaced jar of Bougainvillea seeds
There are things we can't recallBlind as night that finds us allWinter tucks her children in, her fragile china dolls
But my hands remember hersRolling around the shaded fernsNaked arms, her secrets still like songs I'd never learned
There are names across the seaOnly now I do believeSometimes, with the window closed, she'll sit and think of me
But she'll mend his tattered clothesAnd they'll kiss as if they knowA baby sleeps in all our bones, so scared to be alone