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.
…and it’s nearly halfway through National Poetry month and I’ve said nothing at all about poetry. Well, for those three people still following me you probably already know about the League of Canadian Poets Poetry Blog, but go check it out again and again. There’s new poems all the time.
And because hair is something I’m always thinking about lately, here is a poem for you!