A Poem for the New Year

Liberty

 

buttermilk scones, hot and dry

fruit compote of raspberry

and peach

 

NPR’s soft jazz sings

me through dawn’s edge

 

at the kitchen table I look out to the orchard

that bears

the breath of sweetness

 

out onto the grasses beyond

where moles till the ground

in spring

 

when it seems the days

will never

grow short and dark

 

when my company will be more

than imagined

homecomings

 

with hot scones, warm jam,

and Darjeeling

you sent from India