Tuesday, April 29, 2014


And then, enters a cantaloupe which restores faith in all melon.  So sweet, wet, ripe.  But not overly.  Perfect.  So completely satisfying, you want to tell  your friends to rush out and buy one as you know it too will be splendid.

And this is where poetry enters.  You want to share ripe words with friends.  Those few written this morning to honor spent tulips, knowing "spent" is not "rotten."

On Malisa's photo of Gabriel's birthday tulips

Chance & soil
brought these
tulips their wine-
cup contour.
Apply time,
they surrender --
& perfectly

1 comment:

  1. But there were intervals of sweetness in springtime
    when out on the screened in porch
    we shared a moment of peace over fruit slices
    the insistence of denial was ripe in the air
    and we all thought things might get better

    the sound of silverware being cleared and washed
    the empty rinds of fuller times tossed into the rose garden

    I walked with the taste of lemon along the country road
    counting the cars as they passed me