Vermillion Spring Sestina

 The smell of spring is in the air in our village, Vermillion
You can finally shed your coat and come out of your home
Find your neighbors, engage in weather talk with bright faces
Clear the cobwebs from brain and bike and porch
Take a long walk, take in the panorama from the bluff
Before the view is obscured by exuberantly leafing trees

 
But who can complain about the beauty of the trees
The canopy that hides us from spying satellites zooming over Vermillion
Whose gnarled roots snake down the exposed dirt of the bluff
That over time grow tall and wide, changing house to home
Dropping seed pods like hail on the roof of my porch
We look up and feel the sun through the branches on our expectant faces 

At every turn, through every door, we're greeted by familiar faces
Some who have landed here like birds, some with deep roots like trees
Stopped for a chat in the grocery aisle or a drink on Carey's porch
Reminiscing about all who come, gone, come back to Vermillion
Know this, wanderers: the vortex will always welcome you home

A piece of you will always be tied to the river and the bluff 
But is there some hidden symbolism in living life on a bluff?
Does the effect of being perpetually on a precipice show on our faces?
Always with the vultures waiting, circling above your home
Did the vultures always soar overhead, or did they come with the trees
Transplants from somewhere else who fell in love with Vermillion
Making the updrafts their playground, the water tower their front porch 

Sometimes I imagine Rachel Austin, sitting on her porch
Or looking out her high window over the bluff
Did she ever think about what would become of Vermillion
And if she returned, would she recognize anything familiar in the faces
Or the saplings transformed into mighty, aged trees
Could she look around and know she was home?  

Mi casa es su casa, friend – my  home is your home
Mi porche es tu porche – my porch is your porch
We can have a beer as the squirrels race around the trees
And watch the tornadoes of dust come up from the bluff
The ceiling fan will fail to cool our red, smiling faces
But it's okay because everyone wears red in Vermillion

Dear ones, don't you love our jagged, dusty bluff?
Dear ones, don't you love our sweet people, their sweet faces?
It is love that's born again each time spring comes to Vermillion