Bitter Blossoms

Once there was an anxious awaiting for the moon’s pull


leeching freedom from love’s improvisations

until some morning red poppies

bloom in beauty upon my sheets

a welcome familiar clenching

the harbinger of dreams undeferred.


Now there is an anxious awaiting of the moon’s pull


the ancient affirmation of love’s full circle

until some morning cruel flowers

bloom again upon our sheets

drying to the color of rotten plums

the hue of hopes lost one more time


bitter blossoms.

around 1995. Sometime, remind me to tell you the story of how our youngest child was prayed into existence by our entire parish.

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