New England

She wants her eyes to open to a watercolor sky

Sunlight white and watery through a filter of gray

She wants to throw back the covers to a closet full

Of boots and jeans and coats with collars

She wants to leave the house and step onto a street

Lined with other small houses and wrought iron fences

She wants to walk down the way beneath limbs of great trees

Dripping with remnants of the overnight mist

She wants to stop by her café—hers

And leave with a cup steaming the smell of cocoa

She wants books and soup and history

Tall buildings, old buildings, and a piece of the sea

She wants to rise in the morning

With New England wrapped in her arms

Cool and cozy, independent, unabashed

She thinks she might find the future on that rocky shore