May 2018
While my three children were young, I wrote just enough poetry to give me an inkling that I might have an aptitude for it, but I wasn’t brave enough to throw my earning potential aside until my family was grown and I’d worked for a number of years. As time went on, I came to regret not having devoted myself to writing much earlier in life. The “now or never” decision came about 20 years ago—my late-in-life career—and the process of creating a poem still gives me enormous satisfaction. I’m gratified that my poetry is widely published in the small press and equally gratified by becoming part of a larger community of writers.
A Field of Flowers
The sky a delft blue—
just the day I’ve waited for—
the warmth of the sun falling
on my shoulders like a down comforter.
I see to the tasks of husbandry,
edging a length of the garden
as precisely as a rolled hem,
as if industry alone could fix
what time will undo.
Like the gown I once stitched,
languishing in a closet of clothes
I can no longer wear,
horticulture knows but a brief
season. My hands still
reach for a field of flowers—
as if their freshness never paled
or felt the chill of winter.
—first published by the Aurorean
© 2018 Linda M. Fischer
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