why do Autumn’s naked brown branches and April’s bright green buds share a street?
tattoo a rose on your right hip and
baby’s breath beneath your left breast.
blow. bloom. bring the broom to
clean up crushed peddles and pastels
making your floor a canvas
for the devastated, the damaged, the beloved
bestowed with bandages and baggage.
claim your calamity with character development,
past pain proves to be cargo we cast away
when the boat begins to go under.
reap the weeds with the wheat,
burn the bones and eat the meat,
bath water is waste, but the baby’s a gift,
it’s up to her what she does with it.
but consider, beloved, count cost
count burdens and blessings
and bare trees holding hands
with blooms of Spring.