miyako73
03-31-2015, 10:13 PM
April in Santa Fe
that year
was sweating-hot
like summer.
Georgia was visiting
for the weekend,
but my garden looked
like a landscape
of dry blotches
and spots of brown.
Ram horns
and buffalo skeletons
and the flight of dust
just could not match
the symmetrical softness
of flowers.
But the calla lilies
failed to bloom,
the petunias
were stingy with buds,
and the black irises
withered too soon.
So after a long shower,
I shaved
and washed well,
then moisturized it
with the scent
of amaryllis.
I checked
what I had done
for her—
a pink blossom.
that year
was sweating-hot
like summer.
Georgia was visiting
for the weekend,
but my garden looked
like a landscape
of dry blotches
and spots of brown.
Ram horns
and buffalo skeletons
and the flight of dust
just could not match
the symmetrical softness
of flowers.
But the calla lilies
failed to bloom,
the petunias
were stingy with buds,
and the black irises
withered too soon.
So after a long shower,
I shaved
and washed well,
then moisturized it
with the scent
of amaryllis.
I checked
what I had done
for her—
a pink blossom.