Brie Poem by Diane Lee Moomey

I'm opening a Brie for you. I'll set
it where its shoulders, creamy firm, will slump
into the warmth of afternoon, and where
what breeze there is today will carry news
of "Brie" out to the highway, where you may

be driving. Yo-Yo Ma is at full volume
now (in case you're walking by) , and I've
opened the Neruda to the verse
that seemed to summon you a time or two
ago, and read its final stanza twice,

read aloud his final stanza twice.
And I have trimmed the ivy, cut the spent
camellia blossoms, swept the brown ones from
beneath the pots that cluster near the door
where surely you will knock and bring a poem,

like you did before.