This morning showed up with an orange cast
like the Polaroid photos of earlier times
I have stuffed in shoe boxes.
I was greeted by a cicada, eye level on my screen door.
He hung around most of the day,
perhaps tired too of the persistence of the dog days.
The tall feathered grasses nodded
their weary heads in the hot breeze.
The roadsides were knotted like the underside of a tapestry
in threads of blue, white, mustard, green.
The day, shortened by the dark that arrives early,
lingering around in the morning, senses it too;
this fleeting season of vivid intensity, treasured,
bookended between now and the final,
eager to make its grand entrance.
Angela Hoffman lives in Wisconsin. With her retirement from teaching and the pandemic coinciding, she took to writing poetry. Her poetry has been widely published. Angela’s collections include Hold the Contraries, 2024, Olly Olly Oxen Free, 2023 (nominated for the Eric Hoffer Book Award), and Resurrection Lily, 2022 (Kelsay Books).
© 2024, Angela Hoffman
Halfway Down the Stairs 