Where goes the Petunia
by Amy Nelson
You have made my bosom move while garments billowed out below,
without your knees,
the clouds won't hang,
and the petunia heads don't grow.
You have made the moon release fair scents while I sleep
without your flesh,
the plainness stays
and the birch brooms do not sweep.
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You have put the forests pieces and the gardens on display,
without your talk,
the red finches fall,
and the stallion does not neigh.
You have made every slow hum into a fragrance of your latch,
without your sleeves,
the bear's heart dies,
and the chickadees don't hatch.
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You have toasted grains and strawberry slop when I've been sick with a shake,
without your stretch,
the pastry is stale,
and the white loaf does not bake.
You have turned these hands into herbs and this tongue into dough,
without your love,
the migration begins,
and the petunia heads don't grow.
I've decided to write and publish a weekly poem here on the blog. The poem is written right on blogger with a 45 minute time limit. I'll also post photographs or illustrations to go alongside. I think it will be a nice challenge for me, and if you enjoy the poetry, you'll know you have something to read *every single* week.
P.S
I think I'll add more to this poem throughout the week... And I'll post the finished product on my poetry page.
(An outfit post is on the horizon... but for now... I must comb these knots out of my hair *)
Thank you for reading.
