Testament
by Ruth Bavetta

I leave you seagulls climbing the onshore drift,
orange trees in the rain, bright beads of turquoise
and a length of silver chain.
 
I leave you sunset over Catalina, fog misting
the farthest star, and no matter where you are,
I leave you love to reach for,
and pearls curled along the beach.
 
I leave you Ultramarine, Naples Yellow,
Crimson Lake, tubes and pencils, inks,
and brushes, a cloudy jar of bookbinders’ paste
and the taste of songs unsung.
 
I leave you horseback rides on moonlit August
nights, lights across the valley floor. Loosestrife,
petrichor, eucalyptus, life,
and a thousand other unfinished poems.

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Ruth Bavetta’s poems have appeared in North American Review, Nimrod, Rattle, Slant, American Journal of Poetry, Atlanta Review, Tar River Poetry and many other journals and anthologies. She likes the light on November afternoons, the music of Stravinsky, the smell of the ocean. She hates pretense, fundamentalism and sauerkraut.

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