I was on the porch pinching back the lobelia
like trimming a great blue head of hair.
We’d just planted the near field, the far one
the day before. I’d never seen it so clear,
so gusty, so overcast, so clear, so calm.
They say pearls must be worn or they lose their luster,
and that morning I happened to remember,
so I put them on for milking, finding some
sympathy, I guess, between the two.
Usually I don’t sit down until much later in the day.
The lobelia was curling in the sun. One by one
birds flew off, and that should have been a sign.
Trust is made and broken. I hardly sit down
at all. It was the time of year for luna moths,
but we hadn’t had any yet settling on the porch
or hovering above the garden I’d let the wild rose take.
© Lisa Olstein
READ MORE POEMS BY THIS POET:
- What We’re Trying to Do is Create a Community of Dreamers
- Dream in Which I Love a Third Baseman
- Where the Use of Cannon Is Impractical
- That Magnificent Part the Chorus Does about Tragedy
- [White Spring]
- Your Country Needs You
- Air Rights
- Dear One Absent This Long While
- In the Meantime
- Run Every Race as if It’s Your Last