artwork: mary wehner
At This
Age
by Mary Wehner
It
feels inordinately calm,
like
November’s lake beginning its casual curl,
the
late geranium in staunch regard,
agreeable
in the changing light —
restlessness
set aside like a spade in winter,
the
low voice in the kitchen
where
everything smells of fennel and rosemary,
hum
and whistle in the front room, the logs catching.
~
first published in HUMMINGBIRD
