In the Glory of the Morning
I bend over her
and watch her in bed.
Aaron taught me to be patient –
that the blue sticky umbrella petal
will always refuse to be rushed.
She sounds like an Eskimo kiss
with the slightest nuzzle of star ends,
and before even I can prepare,
hours seem like minutes
and I can taste Ipomoea purpurea
in
the early sun-warmed air.
Exposed
At
the height of spring,
there
were seven eggs for me.
Hiding
under the old great pine –
that
I never thought would be gone,
but
now is –
that
was the best spot
if
you had something
that
you wouldn’t want found.
The
needles stab at kids’ feet,
but
it’s worth it even if there are no eggs
because
that’s where the pink paper
walls
hang from their roof
with
the fluid clinging
of
a pretty bleeding heart.
Abortion
Mine is a gentle pull
on waves of royal blue
over a still, solid bottom.
I catch the ocean
in my cupped palm
and drink in liquid gold
from the heavens.
My greed is my demise,
but my children smile
because I have made them
whole again.
Until they are salty tears
of a mere sunflower,
they are alive.
In
the tool shed!
He’d
call to me,
with
garden gloves
shaking
stalks of –
something
or other.
Sure
as sun found sky,
he
would make things grow.
I
brought him scissors
in
the summertime
to
watch him shear away
sordid
suckers of life,
the
dandelions.
Dandy Lions
I
pucker my lips
as
they growl,
the
panthers of the garden.
They
are strong at root
and
weak at seed.
It
makes me feel strong,
just
as they’d like.
A
bowtie flies off too,
with
a dandy flippancy.
These are "flower poems" from lit mag that I just found (looking for my best writing to submit to a competition tomorrow -- nervous!). I really don't like them much, but I've decided to post them anyway because I like to have all of my writing in one place, where I can go back and revise it wherever I am. The last two I don't believe I ever turned in for credit, but they were just more fun for me.
