Tuesday, March 29, 2005



I am rays of forsythia
to winter-weary yard
I am sunbeams of pansies, dafs and tulips.
I am Basket of Gold
spilling over rock wall
and bright dandelions decorating ditches.
I’m a riot of broom
along ocean cliffs in spring
and in summer a hedge of ochre tansy.
In the fall I am rippling field
of champagne-colored wheat
then as goldenrod I sway in grass of khaki.

I’m a squirt of tangy mustard
a bite of lemon pie
I am saffron and turmeric and curry.
I’m the orangy-golden egg yolk
the richest ivory cream
I am cheese and damson jam and tawny biscuits.
I’m the singing canary
the ribbon on the tree,
never shy, most tend to think of me as forward –
when I highlight your lines
mark your place with sticky notes –
so don’t ever, ever dare to call me coward!

–V. Nesdoly © 2004
Dedicated to Rebecca Writes in the great Canadian, almost-frozen north who, it seems, has yellow fever.


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