Poetry by Theresa Wyatt
in my cushy chair it is the end of summer.
The community noise of lawn mowers moves chipmunks
underground for hours & hummingbirds toward the lake.
Grass outside the gate is yellow from drought.
Parallel thoughts generate questions – will it be cool enough
to sleep with the windows open – will roaming creatures
slow the spices’ heart rates – will the apple crop yield both
sweet & tart, and did the Farmer’s Almanac discern
a mild winter? Dry leaves stand ready to turn.
When winter comes,
I’ll look out at roped chairs without cushions,
the covered air conditioner will be soundless, lawn mowers
will hibernate. Apple pies and sauce will be stacked neatly
in the freezer – pesto will be tightly sealed.
When it comes, I’ll go out on the glistening deck
frosted with crystals – cardinals will bear witness
while Tai Chi arms caress the wind breathing
through the fence – all of us & everything
finding new rhythms in between the white.
Theresa Wyatt is the author of The Beautiful Transport, a Moonstone Press 2022 chapbook finalist, and Hurled Into Gettysburg (BlazeVox Books, 2018). Her work has also appeared in New Flash Fiction Review, Spillway, The Ekphrastic Review, and The Healing Muse. A retired educator, Theresa resides near Buffalo close to Lake Erie.
