May Day

I’ve kept too many
unmarked keys, to open what doors?
– and uncoupled socks whose mates
traveled, to where?
I have too many coats, just right 
for the climate I abandoned;

too many serving platters,
not enough dinners shared.
Who drinks anymore from this crystal
conserved from an age of people now buried?

In this perfect nest, four tiny eggs
upon which no bird sits;
and the goose was taken, along with her clutch.
The gander stopped waiting, and flew far.
Crabapple, will you be in such a hurry?
Quince, your blossoms might be
my favorite color for today.
Your fruits in fall will shrivel, unplucked.

text and photos ©2015 Ravenna Taylor