Monday, September 13, 2021


She would set the house ready 

Whisking away winter‘s grime,
she wiped the windows of our souls clean,
then poured the used-up water on the roots of a backyard forsythia

Lenten offerings made in silence

I recall the bulb, its fragrance like a prayer, leaves firm  pointed toward heaven

A scent not unlike her own
all my springs ever since

No comments:

Post a Comment