I want to remember us this way
outside on the deck at twilight
each with a half-drunk glass of wine
joining the nightly neighborhood howl
its mournful trumpet solo at the end.
I want to remember this very morning
how we walked to the trailhead in the fog
amidst April’s reckless explosion—wisteria, calla lilies
rain-soaked eucalyptus—the smell so fragrant
you’d swear it could keep our lungs alive forever.
A lone gray fox crossed the fire road
looked over as if to say
Living is no laughing matter
walk purposefully into the woods
vanish without a trace.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A graduate of Brown University, Diana Donovan is a freelance marketing writer who lives with her husband and daughter in Mill Valley, California. She is a regular participant in San Francisco’s ‘literary mixtape’ Quiet Lightning. Her work has been published in Atlas and Alice, Panoplyzine, Plainsongs, Pacific Review, West Trade Review, and Not Very Quiet.