Amytis Leaves Her Garden
by Karen Kelsay
I left my summer home in Babylon,
where citrine stars, like beveled jewels light
the fields of brittle barley in the night.
I left the terraced temples of the dawn
and plum-soft clouds that fawn the morning hills;
the water lilies, sweet and pregnant flesh
of ruby pomegranates that refresh
long afternoons. I miss the early trills
of songbirds by the stream. There’s no return
to shady fig trees arching near the walk,
or mulberries adorned and interlock-
ing overhead. No resting by a fern.
No apple blossom honey by the streams,
or date palm forests waving through my dreams.
