Still Garden

Tuesday, March 16, 2021

My butterscotch dress
rustled by harvest’s coos.
Giving into the crisp ground
for a penny’s moment.
Thyme, in his hazel eyes, spring waltzes with autumn.
Parsley, the way our laughs echoed in the apple orchard.
Basil, cooking noodles in his makeshift apartment. 
Mint, nights of midnight catching up to us.
Oregano, soft-spoken vows in the woodlands.
To my left, birds bathe
in puddles the nearby town's spring envy.
Taking in the days dances, 
I brush earth from my knees.
To my right, the wooden porch swing
painted amber by the setting sun.
By the time my feet reach our old farmhouse, 
he settles into dusk
saving a spot for me.


This poem was published by Poetically Magazine.

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