Cabin Baggage

My niece is heading here to stay with us.
Before she leaves home she takes careful stock
Of what she might not know again for years.
The berries (so she writes) have been brought in,
But she’ll be gone before the peaches come.
On days of burning sun, the air is tinged
With salt and eucalyptus. ‘Why am I
Leaving all this behind? I feel a fool.’
But I can tell from how she writes things down
The distance will assist her memories
To take full form. She travels to stay still.
I wish I’d been that smart before I left.
Instead, I have to dig deep for a trace
Of how the beach was red hot underfoot,
The green gold of the Christmas beetle’s wing.