by Margaret Rozga
My hand heavy, or my mind.
The words slow, or my winter-headed heart.
The squash vines, some mammoth upright green
leaves cupped toward the fog-veiled sun
no longer hide the under-story, thinning
yellowing. A few ants withdrawing.
Petunias in their protected corner
a patch near the warm brick of the house
still purple as prayer, salmon as song.
A bee hovers as if in tune, then flies on.
I pull out the shriveled flower heads,
my thumb and forefinger, oh, how sticky
with the fragrant residue of bloom.
Without washing it away, can I break and scramble
eggs for breakfast, spread toast thick with raspberry jam?
I do not get up, do not move
drink in these moments when words satisfy like food.
Margaret Rozga’s poems have been published recently in Capitola
Review, Weave, and Memoir (and). The Wisconsin Library
Association recently named her book Two Hundred Nights and
One Day an outstanding achievement in Poetry for 2009.
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Apple Valley Review:
A Journal of Contemporary
Volume 5, Number 2
Copyright © 2010
by Leah Browning, Editor.
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published in the Apple
Valley Review are retained
by the individual authors