From The Garden

(Poem by Wendy Howe )

I gather herb blossoms that grow
wild near the water's edge
and drape their joyous scent
over a narrow basket.

They amuse this room
which  has felt the rain lament
all week and the mist falling
cool on the window's shoulder
like a girl’s breath expelling
grief in her lover’s absence.

Now he has come home. You
unlock the door,  the  key
a flower's skeleton
clenched in a lonely hand. Mine
is smoothing petals, nimble
and ready to unbutton your shirt,
loosen and lovingly pull off
the tense weave of separation.

© 2011, Wendy Howe. E-mail.
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