Thursday, October 11, 2012

I Wish You Well



Yellow line.
Yellow bus.
Yellow pencils.

Mystic

Seaport. Sea 
chanties,
rock candy, salt water 
taffy.

You:

prettiest
girl in the entire
fourth grade.

Smartest, too: 

steeped
in Wernher von Braun and
Van Cliburn and
Edgar Allan Poe.

Plaid jumper. Knee
socks.

Peter Pan
collar.

You patted, 
anxiously patted,
your right thigh when you 
knew
the answer.

You puffed bangs 
out of eyes 
when deep in

thought.

You led the pack.

But stopped:

palms on knees, long
hair hanging,
spine an arch, gasping. 

From my table radio, 
Schubert's Ninth Symphony.

On my bed, three cats: one
yawning, one
dreaming, one 
purring.

Stepping onto noon's bright
porch, gleaming
penny in hand,
I sail it into the azure. 

The coin arcs, then
descends into Eden of fir
and fern 
and myrtle.

I hear it hit woodland floor, 
and I wish you 
well.