The Last Afternoon

Let's forget that we're dying,
that it's fall,
that I smelled snow last night.

Let's just pick out these onions at the market,
the ones the farmer steals an extra dollar for,
and talk about tonight's supper.

There is sunshine on the back of your bare hand now
where you are holding it over an acorn squash,
and this is the last afternoon.

We gave all our days away, I think,
hiding my dirty fingernails under my scarf.
Even here, though, the long light is beautiful.

Comments

[Yknot]

I'm actually surprised that folks in your neck of the woods don't have an indoor market,so local farmers &awesome craft people have someplace to ply their nefarious trade...

[schmutzie]

yknot, we do, but this is just the last one out at the plaza downtown.

[Ruth]

yes! yes. YES!