For David

In memory of Luann Landon

On Sunday afternoon, the day I heard,
The All Saints’ daffodils outside sang hymns
Their leaves and voices raised, their white vestments
Made brighter by Sewanee’s post-storm sun.

Fast tears came to my unsuspecting eyes
And I gave thanks for one more life well-lived.
Recalling the last time I saw her face
Her eyes (a milky blue?) would follow me…

Would follow as I might follow the moon,
A kind stranger, a child I know I’ll miss.
They trailed me, fixed, my long walk to the door
As lunar pull leaves waves ambivalent

(I’d just told her a favorite memory:
After Twelfth Night our cast party was there;
While in the bathroom I was overcome
By her white nightgowns hung upon the door)

I passed your house, your garden in the front,
White flowers in their pots, the Shakespeare bust,
The bird feeders, unopened bags of soil,
The wide window that framed your offering.

There are things in this life I know are rare:
Moonflowers at noon, true purity in prayer,
When instant love endures, entwining lives
And timidity is true courage belied.

a reading from Luann Landon’s Dinner at Miss Lady’s:

with Luann and David Landon at the Sewanee Inn, 2017