and on the sixth day,
a rose appeared on our frozen porch.
it had perched in an earthenware vase,
soaked up psalms,
blushed at amens,
on a wood table as round as the world
two days later
it began to weep petals,
so i hung it in the kitchen window over the sink
to dry for your box of treasures.
it peered down at you during bathtime,
and even when you moved your splashing upstairs
it still looked for you amid cups and spoons,
dried cereal, applesauce.
after three hundred sunrises,
breakfasts, dimple-grins, scrubbed counters, tears,
it’s bleached the color of straw,
drained of all rosy-ness.
if it ever makes it
to a treasure-box, if it doesn’t crumble
into a dismal potpourri,
will you still hear the hymns it held?
will you behold the color of distraction,
or attention?
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Asides
» I have been remiss in posting SBJ’s latest stats: 23 pounds and 27 inches at six months. Yes, I’ve got the big mama biceps.
» Aaaaaand little she-who-is lost another tooth this week!
» SBJ is four months old, 19 pounds 5 ounces, and 26 inches tall. GIGANTOR!

we keep an ongoing family potpourri which includes flowers/herbs from the various yards where we’ve lived, the various weddings and funerals we’ve shared and various flowers from special friends.
once in a small group we each brought flowers from our yards, dried them, divided them up, and ended up w/ a small group potpourri.
i never add the essential oils which are waaaay to fragrant (or smelly) for my taste. i just leave the assortment in a basket to enjoy. . . and recall . . .
this reminds me of saint theresa (sp?) and the miracle of her flowers (which i’ve been blessed to experience myself before i even knew about saints). have you ever read ann weems’ poetry? the minister who used to preach in my church read her poems in sermons a lot.