Category: Garden
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Pond and Brook
I leave my Pond and Brook by the bedside, with its buzzing mayflies, fin-splashed surface, amoeba-soaked beach, and head downstairs, to ease myself through churning email where minor decisions flutter across dry laminate. All the while the mayflies await my return, and chatter through their own webs of consequence.
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Geraniums (revised, again)
It begins with the scent of geraniums, bitter and hard, and my grandmother telling me not to touch because she is afraid I will pick them. I wonder how this flower so harsh on my nose could be the crown of her patio. It begins with the scent of geraniums, bitter and metallic, and the…
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Buddhista 3
It is a miracle that you survive day after long day in the cold, under rain, through whining wind. Once, as snow fell, a smirk edged your lips but it slipped under by the time I looked firm. I ask, are you a ghost? Yet day after long day, you hold steady, build moment after…
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Buddhista 2
You sit on the stump of the old willow where last stood a luxurious swaying, deep shade for hot summer days. Sun falls bright upon your head, your joints ache from prayer or thought or long years of passive watch over this small yard, the squirrels that make their home in the stretches of the…
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Buddhista 1
I will buy for you a cedar box, red, fragrant when rain falls, broad and steady, and plant it near the crocuses and the daffodils that were tossed among fresh sprouts of day lilies, and in time, that will sleep under the vigils of June’s deep clematis and our red-then-green- then-red-again maple. And upon it…
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An Easter thought
It does not seem fair in all the measures of life that our heavy ways hang in expectance on these tiny buds just now swelling as if even trifle error could be swept long past by the miracle wrought when young leaves break their cocoons. We are at the gallows, bewildered, then resurrected, by the…
Poems from in between 