Get Well
I hear the
cicadas buzzing and
find their cast-off clothing
in the garden
Yellowing leaves
are stuck
to the patio table
Summer’s hot breath doesn’t fool
Fall is poised right around the corner. Ugh.
I hear the
cicadas buzzing and
find their cast-off clothing
in the garden
Yellowing leaves
are stuck
to the patio table
Summer’s hot breath doesn’t fool
Fall is poised right around the corner. Ugh.
Didn’t understand but listened built an ark loaded animals two by two Cold, wet smelly, nauseating crowded, stifling drifting, drifting day after day, two by two Rain stopped water receded everyone disembarked slowly life began again Seeds and flowers sun and rain nurturing and time to grow Two by two As we reach the shores…
Stepping across the threshold leaving one reality, embracing another – if only for a few moments Inside a fan mutely, slowly bathes the room in a slight breeze long, slender blades dip (ever so slightly) as if to caress my husband resting in the bed below were it not for the four posters standing sentry…
Before I walked inside it looked ordered, pleasant I might make a difference, if small They knew I could never stay no matter how bright, sunny, nice, agreeable (unlike the cottages tidy and white on the outside – inside, dark and sad) In the cottages small hands still waited to be held little voices to…
Nights you’d prowl the house in stark contrast to days of nursing/moving/coaxing Did you slip away, certain your baby was asleep – forgetting she was an only child soon to miss the warmth of your body? or was it a need from deep inside to have some part of each day silently to yourself? It…
No sooner had the calendar turned its page to December then God spread His blanket across the eastern half of the continent. Pre-empting deck the halls and fa-la-la, deer stayed in their thickets and geese fell silent. Caught by surprise littlejennywren darted from her berth ‘neath the boat cover and chattered incessantly at our back…
Earth so dry Beginning to relinquish hold on a landscape slowly losing the struggle to dig deep enough for life sustaining moisture – sprinklers small comfort. Into each heated night, cicadas loose a relentless, high-pitched plea – no relief and dawn arrives – gray as the day before. And yet – yet the strawberry pot…