Chasing Sunsets

A dwindling summer lingers on
as zinnias hold out stubbornly.
The buds set on chrysanthemums -
by mid-October they shall bring
us autumn sunbursts. Drink with me
a toast to Browning and to Frost,
and one for dear Ms. Emily,
for summer's green must soon be lost
to ghostly winds and leafy streams
and graves that were not tilled in spring.

A I R <---> M A I L

For my mother (Oct 17,1932 - Feb 28, 2009)

The stamps you left inside your roll-top desk
are lady liberties worth thirty-nine
cents each. And in this chair I'm like a guest
in a closed Bed and Breakfast as I sign
this poem/letter that I'll never send
to you because the place is much too far
where you have flown. I cannot cause the wind
to carry my fond wishes to your star.

We last spoke on a Saturday by phone;
the final time was February-gray.
I told you I would call you back at home
that afternoon. I never got to say
the words I would have said if I had known
how quickly death would swallow flesh and bone.

Anne Bryant-Hamon (c) Oct. 1, 2009