Try again. But this time do not
embroider with blue-jay flash,
robin breast, cardinal. Take
the smallest bud of lilac
and study it without already
filling in visions of lavender.
It is spring, unplowed field
brown with left-over corn
and a few abandoned bales.
This is not a time to paint
over. Some things
won’t come back. Tulip
bulbs in chipmunk bellies,
the juniper shorn and shredded
by the deer. And of course
after the bulldozers raze
the field for 92 new homes,
the monarchs will
change their mind.
Nothing will fly,
nothing will replace
the goldfinch,
owls, golden hawks.
Try again to persuade the town
not to allow more sprawl.
Show them the small bud
that won’t be allowed to bloom
next year— |
Kitty Jospé is a retired French teacher, but actively involved with multiple collaborations with dance, music, art and word. The teacher in her cannot rest, so not only is she an active docent at the art museum, but leads a weekly poetry appreciation session, started during her MFA in creative writing poetry at Pacific University.
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