Thursday is still my favorite day of the week. There is poetry today in the cool September air. There's poetry hiding in school books. There's poetry in the changing leaves. And because Delia is hosting the traveling poetry road show this week, poetry blooms again in the blogosphere.
This little poem I wrote for one of my postcard poems. Seems fitting for so much change around me. No title yet, but it is the start of something golden and true and real.
Looking forward to writing a poem on next week's prompt.
Today I plant impatiens
to conceal the mass grave of my garden,
where flowers die in summer’s late wane.
The low hanging heads of the hydrangeas
have forgotten how blue they truly are.
But memory never allows for such subtraction.
A flower remembers its long, slender stem,
the water pooling at the roots. It remembers
what it means to be in love with itself—
light gushing light. The curious jewel of an eternal bud.