Green Hills Literary Lantern

 

 

Last Light

 

 

In remembrance

 

In the last light,

the two chairs facing

the canyon, once ablaze

with summer, are fading,

their still-warm

skin remembering.

 

A pot casts its shadow

in a pantomime of haste,

its fronds drinking dusk

as quickly as they can.

 

The sun drills

its diamond into

the agate of a hill,

exploding

into dark fragments

and fiery flints.

 

This is how I

remember them,

with streaks of brilliance

sweeping the lawn,

the hummingbird’s stitch

erratic with sugar,

 

And the way

sun feels on my back

as I turn,

a warm palm

placed from the past,

which is present,

then, just as quickly,

gone.

 

 

 

Jean Howard is a video and performance poet, organizer, producer, and has poetry published in over one hundred publications, including Harper's Magazine, The Chicago Tribune, and her own book, Dancing In Your Mother's Skin (Tia Chucha Press).