2021

Nothing bloomed
quite like normal
More akin to reluctance
Had to search the hillside
for the colors
Waited, but they never truly
came.

Summer’s done here
The usual symphony of spring
resembled instead
Great Mamaw’s quilt
passed down
wallowed, washed, sun-dried, faded
A worn out kind of love
One last hurrah for her
house dress — arm pits, sweat stained
Gotta keep them babies warm

Emergence from forced pause
feels tentative still
Where’s the trick?
The gimmick
Gotcha

Spring’s done gone
I’m still here waiting for the blooms.