The island has been home to many fine places to eat over many years, each generation bringing its own diners with some staying for a generation, then two, and sometimes three. Other pass with the passing of a person, a mood, a circumstance, a reality and with the shift of a life or two the gathering place for many dissipates like steam over the kettle. One fine place for a while was Marigolds, and with pen and napkin I captured the moment between parties at tables four and seven on a Thursday night.
On watching a sweeping
wind through Marigolds
light spinning yellow
off the walls
under the fan
caught
like Dorothy and Toto
Maureen and Dan
zip among around over tables
clearing them
like strong winds a prairie floor.
Brian lays out placemats
with gentle preciseness
like the after-breeze
settling broad dried leaves
on the smooth brushed ground.
(april ‘95)