Читать книгу Local News from Someplace Else - Marjorie Maddox - Страница 10

Shadows bloom and wilt across the patio,

our new home sheds flakes of bright paint,

and, of course, it is October; the neighbors we don’t know

hang pumpkin lights like lamb’s blood over the threshold,

and from their porch rocking chairs stare at us, the strangers.

We disguise ourselves with smiles and wave.

And why not? Let the leaves fall and the grass grow high,

our new life floats around us in the frost-free air,

and we own the chaos of autumn; the weeds

would grow between our toes if we’d linger

into another two seasons. We are giddy enough

for a picket fence or a pink flamingo

and bring out Baby to see the splendor.

“Here,” we say like good parents, “is the color red

and over there, the irrepressible orange of joy.”