Monday, March 10, 2025

Moment ( a poem)

 "My grandmother loved bougainvillea" she said

apropos of nothing

as she looked out the window

at the late Spring garden


But I knew a storm was coming

that would destroy the remaining purple blooms

making them slick on the garden path

sticking to my shoes

like onion skins

But she was lost in her reverie

I murmured assent

and drank my tea. 

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