Victoria

17

Renaissance

A white fan hums to the buzz of cicadas,
The sunbaked grass sits cool beneath my bare feet,
Clandestine mosquitoes kiss the backs of my ankles,
But I wait quietly.
The steamy Sunday dusk glows orange, pink, then purple,
And traces of barbecue mingle in the perfume of sleeping nectar.
The dark green garden shyly flickers to life,--
one by one, July’s Christmas lights
except they’re kaleidoscopic summer lights,
But I wait quietly.
Luminescent sprites daintily meander a breeze
casting ghostly auras of color
to the waiting azaleas and peek-a-boo branches.
A glittering jar wanders with nonchalance into the neon sparkles.
Miniature stars scatter like fireworks.
But one star shines brightly in the hand-cupped jar,
Brilliance.

Brilliance quietly waits.