Every Spring—the same conversation:
cut the flowers or leave them in the ground.
She wants them inside, he wants them
where they grew, where they belong.
She cuts them, brings them inside,
bringing the smell of Spring into her home
bright color in every corner.
She is gone, now he cuts the flowers
turning every surface into an altar—
the dead win all the arguments.
Peter Goodwin
Quatrain for the 4th
ReplyDeleteSpring Bride
After April's songs are sung,
when nestlings are no longer young,
these budding leaves yellow and fall,
will you then these vows recall?
May Kuroiwa
Tomorrow: a Haiku
spraying algae
ReplyDeleteIt has its unexpected benefits:
wood ducks startle
(their wings sound like glass shattering in the air)
fish swirl under the weeds
(one smooth roll of water, then nothing)
and my feet are now my favorite color
(turquoise)
Maggie Creshkoff