Daylight Savings

By Pamela Kenley-Meschino

This could be 
my secret hour
when the loose 
ends get gathered
up and arranged 
in heirloom rows
with all the perfume 
promise of ripe 
summer plums. 

When the fat lady 
steps forward to sing, 
the brilliance of her 
aerial voice rising 
in a luminous loop 
beyond the spotlight;
beyond the canopies; 
above the four corners.

When the surplus 
and the shambles, 
the rough residue 
of regret, the trail 
of gloom and tragedy, 
the lament of unrelished 
days, evaporate in a cogent 
crisp of cloudless blue. 

And all the things that
matter most, like mouth
to mouth inscriptions, 
skin to skin sequels, the 
feel of green and music, 
the blush and whisper 
of grandiose ideas, return 
in a supreme sweep that 
rises to the surface like yeast 
and honey: a sweet surplus 
of plenty to pocket for the road.
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About Pamela Kenley-Meschino

Pamela Kenley-Meschino grew up in England, and many of her poems reflect her connection to the English landscape and her love of nature. She was about twelve when she wrote her first poem, when she realized the elemental magic of capturing a feeling, an event, the transient splash of life within the small space of a poem. 

She received an MA in Literature at Portland State University in Oregon where she lived with her husband and daughter for about fifteen years before moving to Long Island, New York. She currently teaches writing at Hofstra University.

4 Comments

  1. Posted June 2011 at 8:12 pm | Permalink

    Enjoyed — enjoy-ing, especially:

    in a luminous loop
    beyond the spotlight;
    beyond the canopies;

    &

    evaporate in a cogent
    crisp of cloudless blue.

    &

    and the last two “sweet” lines

  2. Posted September 2011 at 3:11 pm | Permalink

    Well the first time I read this I was stunned. My world lost its gravity and came to a timeless halt. The first stanza left me with such a vivid image of “ripe summer plums” that I came to wonder, ‘are plums harvested in the summer?’ A sad but true fact is that I’ve never seen a plum tree so I couldn’t tell you what season they grow in. It seems like I can always get a plum at any time. A summer plum is the same as a plum to me. But I bet a summer plum tastes so much sweeter!

    The second time solidified my immediate admiration for your poem. I look forward to reading your other poems. Great job.

  3. Posted March 2012 at 10:18 pm | Permalink

    When I think of daylight savings I think of Spring and all the changes to come. Children playing outside; birds flying back north and their songs…

  4. chloe
    Posted April 2012 at 12:51 am | Permalink

    oh that “rough residue of regret” really resonated! And the rest was also very musical. I enjoyed the poem

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