every strawberry

bright with the memory

of picking with my mom

drumming rain

and streams being born —

close the workhouse

a space in the tree

where the baby robins were —

four new stories

missing the feeling

of flip turns in the pool —

pandemic summer

waiting all day

for a chance to stand tall —

nicotiana

every day

the nest gets smaller —

fledgling robins

your old letters —

knowing what they say

without looking

my neighbor’s garden —

the yarrow I wish I’d planted

in my own

standing stems

where there were flowers —

the deer have found us

first day of summer —

the mosquito’s engine

starts right up

summer solstice —

avoiding the rain

that never came

azalea petals

fallen now so we can spot

last year’s nest

bright green forest floor —

deep enough to swim in

or drown

tell me the story

of how we rescue each other —

self-seeding primrose

floating just above

stands of tall abandoned grass —

fireflies

bedtime —

all the bugs that snuck inside

trying to get out

there was a hill road

to use if I ran away —

I never needed it

evening primrose —

self-seeding protests

spring up

wondering

if we’ll ever catch up

on hugs

before you

there was this longing —

wind that brings the rain

midday heat —

the nesting robin and I

going nowhere

wind in the leaves

down here at street level, too —

we’re setting our sails

open windows —

birdsong hitching a ride

on the cross breeze

Black Mothers Rising

lead us in meditation

honeysuckle in the air

homemade protest signs

woven into the fence —

words still doing work

full moon in rain —

I imagine the gratitude

of just-planted flowers

our nearly grown boy

teaches himself to juggle —

a wistful moon looks on

the pause just before

she remembers she can fly —

fledgling robin

bending the long grass

as she turns in a circle —

the doe at dusk

impenetrable —

doghobble’s arching branches

rooting at the tips