Thursday, December 08, 2022

as for myself

I've sunk narcissus bulbs
into dark, stony places 
                                                 pushing them down into dirt
                                                 hoping they'll rise...
my random presents to myself
mirroring blessing
                                                  as the weeks arrive, curving
                                                  into Christmas
I yearn for their spiky baroque
their green resilience
                                                  to lift color into the cold air
                                                  rustling me to worship 
for a fragrance--so like flames  
to rescue me from winter

my tiny domestic tragedies

Big A seemed a bit better yesterday. But he didn't think so. I think he likes being taken care of. It makes me think of my hero, June Jo...