Our chunky yellow school bus
magically dissolves
into blurs and billows
of yellow leaves in fog.
We might be Thumbelinas
inside glowing daffodils
or saffron-silked Chinese
afloat a Yellow River.
Outlines wobble past of
the church where Brownies meet,
my piano teacher’s cottage,
the Ritz Theatre on Main.
Gauzy air on Water Street
veils that pretty Joanna’s house;
further on, the swimming hole’s
sunk in a fog bank.
Clarkstown bridge planking
clatters by beneath us;
hedgerows of sumac and
asters brush our windows.
There’s a mill with a creaky
still-turning waterwheel,
a farm where my Dad sold
an Allis-Chalmers tractor.
Maple leaves drift down
into earth-scented quilts;
we could ride forever
in this peaceable kingdom.
Poem reprinted with permission from Finishing Line Press.
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I am happy that you’ve chosen my poem! What a good place to appear, thanks! Look for my forthcoming book, THE NEVER-QUITE-ENDING WAR: A WWII GI DAUGHTER’S STORIES, from Lystra Press.
Peace to all.
Nancy