Geraniums (revised, again)
It begins with the scent of geraniums, bitter and hard, and my grandmother telling me not to touch because she …
It begins with the scent of geraniums, bitter and hard, and my grandmother telling me not to touch because she …
as if you cannot wait for the snow, as if you open wide to remind us that November holds both …
Dust stirs as I walk to your door, hat by my side. Long pond lies still, weeds bending, expectant. How …
Even the spires of milkweed bend over in the low tumble of wind through the prairie, dry reeds tapping hollow …
It is a miracle that you survive day after long day in the cold, under rain, through whining wind. Once, …
You sit on the stump of the old willow where last stood a luxurious swaying, deep shade for hot summer …
I will buy for you a cedar box, red, fragrant when rain falls, broad and steady, and plant it near …
It does not seem fair in all the measures of life that our heavy ways hang in expectance on these …
Does it startle you, shake you from oblivion, draw you to attention, to your fear? Or do you turn away …
How the rain pours down with heavy boots on our roof. We hover close to our papers someways happier for …