there's no heartbreak here
just my girl, eighteen years old,
ready to face them
sneakers underneath
(pandemic proms are outdoors,
under tents, in grass)
she's taller, braver.
in her silver floor-length gown,
she masters the night
and aren't we a crowd?
this master-mix of humans,
standing on these rocks?
unsinkable us
right below the Molly Brown
(ready to swim. Win.)
vaccines could save us
(yet not from the ignorance
spread without needles)
rainy Mother's Day
(cantaloupe aches for planting)
my babies: plants, pets
this side of the glass
has me trapped like a sad pup
just begging entry
all i want today
is to watch the sunlight shift
on these reborn blooms
the blue-sky morning
can't capture a year of loss
(oh Lord, that sweet scent)
yet afternoon light
so perfectly shines rosy
(ends this hell-frost year)
sometimes numbers lie
(yet, if you want to trade spots...
you might understand)
my sunflower girl,
her modernist self-portrait
so true to her soul
recent immigrants
cross the sea to wholly see
how corrupt we are
despite a cold snap
brought by April treachery
spring blooms bring beauty
our ski season ends
with bluebird jumps and peak views
(and a pinch of angst)
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