Our birch is Zeus
and our lawn is Danaë.
She is covered in a shower of gold.
I rake it in liquid waves
to the borderline of willow and cypress:
a treasure of winter blanket and spring mulch.
I scoop it up like Ali Baba
in the cavern. Armfuls of yellow coins,
and no curse to follow. I am no Midas;
nothing I love will harden to metal,
it will only root and grow.
Cheryl Caesar lived in Paris, Tuscany and Sligo for 25 years; she earned her doctorate in comparative literature at the Sorbonne and taught literature and phonetics. She now teaches writing at Michigan State University. She gives readings locally and publishes poetry in the U.S and abroad. When it’s all too much, she escapes in books, cats and Michigan lakes, and dreams of a saltwater infinity pool she once knew in Palermo.
*Previously published locally, in Poetry Leaves, an exhibition at the Waterford Township Public Library.