Catherine Latta

Goldenrod, Speedwell, Queen Ann’s Lace
full height along the road, the bellwether maple
red by the supermarket parking lot

The harbor mooring fields emptier each day
a keeled daysailer trailered inland
up Back River Road to go on the hard. 

Parking is easier. Town is half the size
the Y sign says free hair cuts
nine to noon with school supplies.

The vacant bedrooms still smell of girls
cherry flavored lipstick, popcorn, chocolate
under the beds hair bands and candy wrappers drift.

The swing hangs aslant, the earth beneath worn
bare from hours of ice cream cone meditation
hearing the branch softly creak, watching tides flow.

Crossing the river through a rough tide rip
the boat slams. I slow, look to sea.
The horizon is clear of summer haze
ocean and sky meet in a sharp clean line.

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