We met there,
among the flowers
     the first time

and then again
       not long after

I thought it was a nice coincidence

of course, it wasn’t that long
until, surrounded by
     the fresh pale of green
         and early crocuses
we said those life-changing, life-melding words:
                               “I do.”

we planted flowers of our own
     around the house
     and on the hill
we carried them to friends
and breathed in their scent

you never picked a favorite

(you always said you’d just
     pick me)

until she came along…
and loved you
with little wilted weeds

and then – I think you chose…



(I remember writing this on my kitchen stove – under the small hood light – in the middle of the night.  Isn’t it amazing – this mixture of marriage and parenting? How the different loves mix up with each other and manage to complement rather than compete?) 


One Response to Dandelions

  1. Uncle Dave says:

    Your poetics are wonderful. Thanks for sharing these. I will return often.


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