My son’s morning glory phase
followed his mint craze just like a young Beethoven
took up Mozart’s baton. Untended pink and purple
chalices still polka-dot the stone wall they were meant
to cloak. Striated blooms climb, wind with confidence—
they neither reap nor sow—and with more gusto
than my clouded mind can muster. Their wisdom
for me: a moment beyond worries, a moment
that wishes to root me even as winds whip my day.
7 thoughts on "My son’s morning glory phase"
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I just love this poem’s rhythm. You move us through each phase with a soft precision. I really enjoyed reading this!
This is so beautifully written. The imagery is graceful and grace filled. Love “the pink and purple chalices still polka dot the stone wall.”
love how the plants ground you instead of you rooting them
Delightful. Dense with the sounds of the language.
“polka dot the stone they were meant to cloak” – love this image and polka dot as a verb. Beautiful read.
Beautiful rhythmic flow, love polka-dot as a verb too, and this is a blessing indeed “a moment beyond worries, a moment
that wishes to root me even as winds whip my day.”
Such a beautiful prayer! This just stirs my heart!