The Backyard of the House on Rose Lane (another hasty draft)

For three days in spring,

a corner of the yard

framed by young berry canes

vibrant green, a coastal lushness

That will last into July here.


not three days in a row,

and maybe not three days,

but pieces, hours,

like the 30 minutes she sat

in still afternoon sun,

listening to winter dispel.


And when it all came together,

a warm air, heavy with grass,

Stained with new berry growth

Smelling like last year,

And the year before

All the way back to her childhood.


And, for a moment,

A connected-to-everything moment

She would lose sight of the back door,

Sitting ajar,

Letting out some bits of late afternoon

television nonsense

Into the wafting green air.


that corner

where the fence ducks behind,

and under the old window

where the laundry has always been

and where, each year,

about this time,

the grass and berries

rise up to consume her

where she sits

for three days each spring

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