Barefoot, I stand here alone
lost in fresh cut grass looking
through long-ago window
enchanted living room aglow
eyes touch golden brocade couch

Upright piano, sheet music
splayed open singing to be played
French door opens
into spacious childhood kitchen

Mom leans over oak table setting plates
paper napkins underneath
a burnt orange bouquet centered in crystal vase
visions clear like a series

of bright paintings but then
I look down, toes grip moist green carpet
And whatever I saw
suddenly disappears

My humdrum hand
brushes scarves of fiery nasturtiums
sneaking through a fence nearby
and the kitchen table appears

With the touch of my hand
flaming vase gleefully grows inside of me
like a powerful vine
with just the touch of my hand