Best of Luck
Natalie Homer

Everyone is doing what’s best for them.
The goldenrod is no exception.

Take a bow, if you like.
            Fine by me.

On the calendar, apples overfill their basket.
Shiny abundance.

It’s feeling lonely, yes,
and in such a beautiful time of year.

The little silver well-wishes that drop lightly in my inbox
aren’t meant for me

but I'll polish them up anyway,
save them for a day when a small chastisement

                        I’m with someone right now
requires emotional payment.

I gather metaphors in the lap of my skirt
like flower petals          or picked berries.

I want to say something
about harbors and ships.

I’ll wait here.
You go on                        cut
                                          and
                                          run.

In another era            I wouldn’t have been the type
to head off to California                 to pack a wagon.

I would stay where it’s green    and where the hills are old
because there’s gold here, too. It’s just harder to see.