End of Summer

A time when guilt sits with me over coffee,
a time to discard, sort, save, change quilts
the color of summer romance in a beauty parlor,
pink squares, a poodle shape with gold wires,
to stack letters, buff-colored pottery, like
river sand, no longer used but here ’til the end.
I look out the window at the royal azalea carpet
of sweet alyssum, the same as a crumpled velvet
rose, wondering if it will stay or go.