In Transition

Suddenly bags are zipping and windows are closing, stars flickering and fading
And the summer is crashing in on me:

Those weeks of work and brown aprons, mayonnaise stains
And all the piles of coins clicking and spinning into place.

The rush of the city on a muggy morning, fog and grease and five thousand songs
Or the scent of the mountains in the rain as we stretch out bodies out
On warm planes of rock.

The smoky nights spent out on the porch with mugs of flat champagne
His fingers brushing mine as he reaches for her hand across the wet trampoline.

Or all those long walks up to the top of the cemetery
Where the bay folds out in little silver sprays of waves
And the grass stretches on for miles and miles.

That sparkle of city you can never quite capture in pictures
As the trains race through the tunnel, along the highway, and home again.

And the feeling of his hands pressed up against my back, warm on a dewy evening,
All the boys I should have kissed and the ones I shouldn’t have.

And most of all, those long afternoons, sitting over clean cups of tea,
Watching the people come and go until we are the only ones
Left here in this little café, where plants dip low over soft wooden tables,

Where I have only to decide whether to take my tea hot or cold.