The cactus is dead and thrown into the yard; it sits like citron on the patio edge, a coxcomb on concrete. I drink cranberry tea, plant some marigolds, and wait for dandelions to whisper my fortune, this secret language of flowers, hollyhocks through my day.

2 thoughts on “ACANTHUS

    • Thanks B! It made me want to write flower poems, but I think I did that once during a Mayday blog writing extravaganza.

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