Perennial


Haven’t heard from you all winter.
Your roots, latent underneath

layers of snow and trench-like puddles,
seek every border of my yard.

I wonder whether you’ll pop up
to spy on me, remind me of summer cartwheels. 

Or if we’re done for good.  I could always
replace you with a narcissus.

Come plucky spring, all bets are off.
Your modest mouse-ears begin to surface.  

Emphatically appearing, a wildflower carpet
fit for a forest.  Soft blue, yellow center.  

I can’t forget you even when I try;
indelible as cornflower sky.

I thought the neighbor’s dog dug you up,
but here you are again, forgetting me not.






The Last Time I saw Her
for my next door neighbor


The last time I saw her
she was walking her dog, beloved Yogi,
with all the patience in this world.
She waited for me to pull out the driveway 
veiled by perpetual pines.

The last time I saw her
her smile shone like a young girl’s.
She wasn’t going to work,
kept private what lingered in her lung,
tended her purple irises instead.

Her chocolate eyes warm, full of light,
her spirit sparkled through the whole block.
The last time I saw her,
wish I had grasped her hand — 
now I see her irises everywhere.