Tag Archives: flowers

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Nearly enough

I like the sound of my phone not ringing, the stillness of my door unknocked. I like the invitations I do not receive, the peaceful hollow of my empty mailbox. Unsolicited for any response, I offer none. Now, I have nearly enough time. The hummingbird feeder needs sugar water; the nuthatches, more seed. If not […]

By and by

We dwell in the land of broken things, of completeness fragmented, degerminated and stripped, then inadequately enriched. You know what I mean. They will have to do, the world’s compensations. We will never be more whole than we were at birth, bawling and bathed in our mothers’ labors, eyes wide but unable to focus, to […]

Might you yet

  Some lives are beautiful, even in ruin. Poppies after hail, bright heads in tatters, uplifted, and from the crushed mouths of lilacs, still that sweet scent. After the storms, might you turn your broken face once more toward hidden sun, praise with bruised lips the likewise battered world? Might you yet be beautiful?

The poet snaps out of it

A red snapdragon I did not plant tumbles from rough rock soft rounded lobes offering themselves to the rugged world how readily beauty dazzles when it does not care who sees a poem I think and then the butcher’s knife drops from the counter pierces my foot so deeply so cleanly cleaving the flesh as […]

Blossom

O, you champion! Offering your lithe and silken palm to the unscrupulous air, the sum of your long, invisible efforts emerged from winter’s sleep: The cupped green sepals, the rising pistil; the delicate stamen, capped with the soft anther that carries your posterity. The perennial turning of your petaled face toward lethal possibility: The late frost. […]

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Blossom

O, you champion! Offering your lithe and silken palm to the unscrupulous air, the sum of your long, invisible efforts emerged from winter’s sleep: The cupped green sepals, the rising pistil; the delicate stamen, capped with the soft anther that carries your posterity. The perennial turning of your petaled face toward lethal possibility: The late frost. […]

High

As the few garden crops I’ve cultivated — tomatoes and kale and spinach — spend themselves and begin to bolt, I’ve been meandering around my yard investigating what Mother Nature planted without any input from me. There’s something different every year, and always a bit of delight:  Having not been in on the sowing, I […]

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