Forsyth, Atlanta,
Then Macon,
houses painted a muted sun-color,
shade of Georgia.
Table lined with roadside
peaches and tomatoes,
breakfast lunch dinner,
arranged carefully
to avoid bruising.

Your sister comes
home on weekends
from the Wesleyan College,
schoolbooks under one arm,
Nazarene boyfriend on the other.
N.B. on the couch, sister sharing
your bed, as her room
has been converted to an office
(which means: flashlight on
till 4 A.M., pencil shavings
and Hostess cupcake crumbs
in the sheets). Shake
your covers out Sunday night.

Then, R.C. colas
in the tomato patch
with your friend Sam,
early-evening landscape
a canvas for your summers:
open-mouthed, a blush
of color, the fade to newseason.


 - Heather Cadenhead