By Shelly Reed
number two
Today the sun’s rising
looks like the locket
you once wore on its tarnished
chain;
it is the color of harmonica
notes spilling
through the screen door
over wild vines,
the tint on your cheeks
before company came
and sweet potatoes sweating
brown sugar.
It is the hue of a bird’s
breast at your feeder
outside the kitchen window
and the color lawn furniture
turns
when left to the summer
rains.
Never in my box of watercolors
did I find a shade to match
you.
number one
Feral were the years
when your hair tendriled,
when we walked through the
ravine,
auburn and blonde zinnias
full wigged
and glorious as orioles
drinking.
I think of you now
while the south wind moves
along marigolds, petals
parting
to drink the flavored rain
of an August passed.
I gather bouquets of you;
errant stems spiral like
hair
in humidity thick as gulch
mud.
In the vase on my dresser
your face again, blooming.
Shelly
Reed's poetry appears extensively
online and in print, both
nationally and internationally.
Her work has featured with
Poet Works Press, Seeker
Magazine and Pulp Poetry.
She's an introvert with
the outward appearance of
an extrovert and prefers
books to food. Recent work
appears with 42 Opus, Atomic
Petals, Bubblegum Poetry
and 2 River and Comrades.
|