Eventide
As the first bud unfurls in a dew-spangled dawn
and the garden tools clang in the shed,
couldn’t we keep those quicksilver twilights
when the landscape dreamed in ochre and frost,
and only moss graced the fieldstone footpath
of dusk-lit quartzite? When crystalline lichen
climbed the split-rail fence, rusted wheelbarrow at rest,
the last blush of autumn all but weaned
from the warp and weft of these vines? Beneath
our buttermilk moon and sweet pea stars,
a bristle-broom sweep of birds foraged amidst
these sepia acres and seed husks. Hidden here
in the hush of this spiced-cider earth, a pair of hearts:
two cherub tomatoes, still on the vine and bright
as banquet candles, solstice berries, paper lanterns—
late-season fruits of a sun-steeped climate
ripening with each turning year. Beyond the velvet
evergreens at the far edge of the field,
always a muffled rush & purr from the freeway:
travelers seeking elsewhere, and the world
spinning again. Do you remember how we stayed
still, wishing for a vernal earth?
– Jenevieve Carlyn Hughes
“Eventide” was published in Rockvale Review, May 2023
jenevievecarlyn.com 