Madame Ranevskayas Reverie

poem 2 of a Chekhovian suite

I dance beneath boughs heavy with spring, wine-warm laughter on my tongue. The air tastes of childhood and lost letters— murmurs of father, of home. Yet every footstep echoes farewell; hope, a threadbare gown I once wore. I sip nostalgia like champagne— sweet, effervescent, and gone too fast. .