Every week the fungus grows Your shiny leaves droop Flowers fall like half-timbered trees. Doomed—unless I douse you with Vinegar, garlic, and soap-infused H20 Wait 24 hours. Rinse you with the hose. Hauling your pot from house to outdoor sink To pump-connected hose. Back indoors. Wearisome, this, the unending fight. Somedays, in my laziness, I’m…
Mountains are earth, rebelling
Straining against dirt-ness
against gravity
A long pendulum dip
Followed by
Splattered drops
The sky is oiled orange
gleaming along the metal
and matte of cement steps
A sudden car trip in the dark.
Your blue hands
curled in the coffin.
Stealthy in bare feet
three bandits come.
Prize swivels high between
striped green leaves.
Mother portions them out
one-eighth of a cup
in six mounds, cupped
A poem about a little girl sitting in a whicker chair, watching a parade go by from her spot in the bay window.
A poem about a childhood adventure in imagination
The hose is on
running clear into black
of garden earth.