by Jade Riordan
Still the lake fills with rain
and the surrounding rock, soil, sand
absorb the grey clouds/silver linings.
Still the fading summer months fly
south with the birds; daylight hours
guided by their leaving.
I’ve left four memories under
a cairn at the outskirts of town;
a place where my vision turned inward
once again. There, maybe even now:
a spare toque, a library card, the ashes
of a diary, and a matchbox
filled with stamps. And out past
the airport, a highway that follows
the path of the birds’ leaving.
And that of their eventual return
Jade Riordan is an Irish-Canadian poet, an undergraduate student, and a selection committee member (poetry reader) with Bywords. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Blue Nib, Cha, Cordite Poetry Review, The Miracle Monocle, Spittoon, takahē, Vallum, and elsewhere.