Friday, January 13, 2012


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.

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