Flowers
~Marita Garin
Among dead leaves in the woods, my daughter
looks for wildflowers-- trillium,
spring beauty, the petals
just opening, earth releasing
its blooms into her hands
for safekeeping. Bars
of shade fall across her cotton blouse.
Like any mother, I want to guard
innocence. Not until she's ready,
I say to stonecrop, those pure white
concentrations I would call stars
except that stars lose
their brilliance every morning. I watch her
as she moves deeper into winter damage,
off the trail. Already the delicate hunger,
vines, taking over.
so let's here your poem,
please
(I like the Donkey poem the best) |
