AN UNUSUALLY FRAGRANT GARDEN
This room's a garden with a presence all its own.
The weeds come back by armfuls
the very day I gather them.
I toss them in piles at my feet,
sorting them by color, shape and weight.
The lacy scent of reds and yellows makes me dizzy,
Their lavender and cotton spice my nose.
Soft blues and greens and browns are heavier.
At times they smell surprisingly of moldy cheese—
they grew up where the dog plays.
Some blossoms rise already smudged and broken,
their lollipop odor sticking to my hands.
They burst up everywhere
like smiles on stems.
I sigh and pick the petals, one by one.
I'll water them, feed the flowers
with bottled chemicals
and hang them in the sun to dry.
There will be more tomorrow.
(The laundry's never done.)
YOU ARE READING
FRIDAY NIGHT PIZZA
PoesíaThis is poetry about normal, ordinary life. Some of it will rhyme. Some of it won't. But I sincerely hope that anyone who stumbles across this will enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them.
