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| Bunny Purington on the Bridge of Flowers, July, 2015 |
A swirl of high clouds
between the retreating sun
and the frosted earth
My mother folds away the old quilts
that did not save her asters
Blue-painted beanpoles
in the new-planted garden
copper chimes flicker
I relax into the stillness
of growing things
This hepatica
whose freshness lasts for an hour . . .
if left in the woods
I wouldn't have seen it,
wouldn't have seen it wilt
Her sharp knife quick
to peel, core, slice the red apple
- we talk of childhood fears
how I blocked my ears
against the fairy tale
Tipped-over maple tree -
its deep roots released from earth
by too much rain
I also want to end my days
where I have always lived
West wind
shudders the farmhouse
I feast on comfort food
beside the garden catalogs
a kitten plays
By the attic stairs a
pot of rosemary
- at night the house creaks
under the weight of stories
no one ever threw away
Tanka from Gathering Peace
c.p.
