Elizabeth Barrett
Equinox
This spring I’ll tip the scales to day –
tilt them with weighted hours, then fold
time here at the edge of light. I will stay
with her at the high window, gold
flaring long as a solstice sun. We’ll play
at naming streets and she’ll admire the bold
yellow flower on the Arts Tower. From her bay
window on Ward Q3 (Acute), I’ll hold
back the night, so she’ll never look the way
she did next day when she’d been told.
There will be no fall through shortened days,
no sudden winding down of years, no scald
of tears nor darkness. Blessed in gold,
the day unbalancing forever, she’ll grow old.
Page(s) 45
magazine list
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