Squeak, snip.
Squeak, snip.
Squeak, snip.

I’m trimming the hanging
cucumber plants.
One of the three in my
Topsy-Turvy pepper planter
is deadening, the snippers
Are an older pair.

Swallow, bat, dragonfly,
an insect, a mammal, a bird.
The quiet pre-dusk sky
Speaks its own language.

Rustle, rustle, cheep.
Three cats look up, hopefully,
dry palm fronds shifting
into bed-time chambers.
Chirp, rustle, cheep.

Screen doors slam,
children’s voices recede,
Called into houses.
I’m done with my trimming,
harder to see, anyway.
I’m older, and dying.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 8/16/10