scent of sweet clover—
wishing I could send it to you
send you, too,
this woman
alone in a field
surrounded
by sweet clover,
her head tipping back
in ecstasy
where the cup your hand
could be.
Posts Tagged ‘missing’
A Vanilla Honey Scent
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged missing, poem, poetry, sweet clover on April 25, 2018| Leave a Comment »
One Thanksgiving
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged family, missing, poem, poetry, thanksgiving on November 25, 2017| 2 Comments »
One Other Scene from Summer Camp
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dinner, flower, missing, mother, parent, poem, poetry on July 26, 2017| 2 Comments »
For My Sister Across the Ocean
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged missing, ocean, poem, poetry, sister on November 1, 2015| 4 Comments »
In the empty kitchen I read
your letter out loud,
try to speak in your tones
as if I might trick my ears,
but there are too many waves
in my voice, I can hardly keep my head
above the water, they are deep
the tides between here and there.
Christmas and my Mother
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Christmas, daughter, love, missing, mother, poem, poetry on December 24, 2013| 1 Comment »
unable to form
the sweet dough in my hands
without hearing the echo
of her hymn as she sings
a thousand miles away
Using the Last Bit of Red Onion Left by Rachel
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cooking, friendship, missing, nostalgia, onion, poem, poetry on July 3, 2012| 6 Comments »
Using the Last Bit of Red Onion Left by Rachel
Lost for weeks in the corner of the crisper drawer,
it appears just in time to save the carrot soup.
One large hunk of red onion, partially used, still good.
I get nostalgic, remembering how Rachel, gone for three weeks,
served it with eggs, and though I didn’t eat them
I remember how delicious the kitchen smelled then.
It is her hand that chose it, her hand that sliced the rings.
I laugh at my own nostalgia. But I miss her, the all of her,
the giggling on the couch with her, the singing in the car,
cayenne and hot chocolate late night, poems, wine.
And slicing the onion, thinking about how Rachel she is,
it is right somehow that I should start to cry.
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