Departure / Return

Departure / Return

A bird I do not recognize is singing
within earshot of the lanai — I had to ask
my host last night the definition of a lanai:
a covered porch, a verandah — and there
are bougainvillea trees above a small pool,
coral, pink, fuschia, white, lavender. Small
palm trees ruffle in the morning air, which
is warm enough to dispense with a sweater,
and why did I bother to pack multiple sweaters,
a blanket, and a pair of fuzzy slippers
for this trip? It is a mystery. Every glint
of light on a leaf catches my eye and I want

to continuously exclaim, “It is so beautiful!”

And it is, but it is beautiful at home too.
When I return, my eyes will be refreshed,
and I will hear the familiar cardinal singing,
and see frost glinting on prairie plants,
grasses ruffling in the chilly air. I will cook
creamy pumpkin soup and remember

leftover sushi and ube pie for breakfast.

My life, a constant joyous series of departures

and returns.


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