for Nancy Puls Clark, 1943-2019
As I step onto the dormant country road,
The neighbor’s manicured lawn mocks my to-do list.
Graying skies and recently bared elms frame my stroll
And I savor cleansing breaths of fresh autumn air.
A few tiny birds and black squirrels are the only fauna.
Traces of trees that toppled in a recent wind litter the shoulder.
Soybeans have been harvested, exposing the ground.
Arrayed in rustling rows, leathery corn stalks wait their turn.
You lie in a Gotham hospital awaiting major surgery,
But I imagine you walking beside me talking about pecan pie,
Laughing at corny jokes and asking about ancestors.
In the distance, over the lake, the sunset is about to blossom.
Chris Clark 