#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream
There were fresh violets blooming all along the trail in the woods in the rain. I walked early, not minding getting wet. Not minding anything. Because this day my husband will be home. And now, at the end of this rainy May day, he is sleeping beside me.
A Dandelion for My Mother
How I loved those spiky suns,
rooted stubborn as childhood
in the grass, tough as the farmer’s
big-headed children—the mats
of yellow hair, the bowl-cut fringe.
How sturdy they were and how
slowly they turned themselves
into galaxies, domes of ghost stars
barely visible by day, pale
cerebrums clinging to life . . .
[read the rest here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49847/a-dandelion-for-my-mother]
Interrupted Fern
