First Day of Summer


The microwave chirrs away 
at seconds I’ve punched in. 
They pass faster than 
“one one thousand, two 
one thousand” the children 
counted playing hide and seek.

Hours slide by scarcely noted, 
but here, I stare, as the seconds 
disappear: this hour, this day, 
my life which will be ‘done’ 
BEEP as soon as the soup.





Retreat                                


From my window in retreat I watch
a nun in habit slowly spreading mulch
on roses in a circle by the garden path.

I think how much she is not--
in her brocaded gown -- like the girl
in "Patterns" waiting for her soldier beau.

She is a bride of heaven, after all,
and does not need to wait 
except for rose bloom and the vesper bell.




​
Going Away


In Haydn’s Farewell Symphony, 
the orchestra gets smaller 
and smaller until  nothing remains.

In my farewell symphony, 
nothing leaves except the composer
whose music has switched

from major to minor key. Leaving 
at pianissimo, I see through the car’s 
rear window,  the house, 

the waving trees, the dog, smaller 
and  smaller, then gone, my dear life
which I won’t remember 
once it’s out of sight.