we wander through grass to table cement

and we sit on the same side

watching seagulls whirl on wind

above green-green hills and sparkling sea

 

and you talk—and i listen

soaking in your thoughts

and later we philosophize

until you walk around to other side

and lay long-tall frame down on bench

with sighs

 

and all i can see is nose and eyes shut face

peering above table between

and you talk—and i listen

and i smell the grass and feel the breeze

 

and at this time there is no place else

on God’s green earth that i would choose to be

breathing soft in moment fully present

moving little lest you young colt

should startle and bolt spirited

 

and you talk—and i listen

the treasure of mothering grown-up son

and you talk—and i listen thankful

and my heart fills brim-full to running over

with peace

 

Heather Pound 2024