Gold bells of Carolina Jessamine
scent the antebellum stairs of the tennis club
A dinner for volunteers,
we crunch the green salad,
nuzzle wine on the terrace.
Spring in February quivers,
throws a range of voices around us
like a warming cloak.
The evening star reigns the sky.
The river’s mirror flickers, sways
city lights in rhythm
like our conversation of the new law
and how I carried luck in my luggage,
an immigrant fifty years ago.
A wall of clouds spreads the horizon.
I hear the pop pop pop
of balls on the courts below.
Laughter echoes through the trees,
still bare in their skeletons.
Beyond the stars, darkness hums.
Image credit: Venus and the crescent moon image (NASA/Bill Dunford, Jan 2019) superimposed with parapet stone railing (Pixabay)