No more winter clothes, ferrying to
the island, nor the pines and willow
shaped as a large turned-up palm.
Among other things shed long ago:

Pulling out the bread drawer and
the one above it to create stairs to
the kitchen counter, at a time when
such a setup supported girl-weight.

When they became too much to care for
we let a pair of rabbits into the field,
but they returned all winter to be fed
and so a bag of pellets was kept on hand.

Bicycling home this week I realized
nine years has passed since I last saw
the first red-breasted robin of spring.
Where I live now are mockingbirds.

Age: you change the locks each morning
with no regard given to leaving a key.
Time moves, releases itself, like it or not,
so I write down what I remember:

Winter clothes and adventuring along
gray rocks spilling into the dark sound
where once we fished for salmon, and
where I’m certain sea lions still swim.