Today, while my toes flatten
dandelions into sticky
medallions, and water splatters
rhythmically upon clumps
of crabgrass, I sketch
the garden's canvas with my gaze.
Geraniums pose like children
in a Bouguereau painting,
leaning on scalloped bricks. Palms
catch sprinkler spray and vibrate
spider strands beneath the window
ledge as clouds roll like marbles
into a quiet circle of sky;
all is framed in ruddy summer--
but only the scent of a wilted rose
will draw me in.
Karen Kelsay lives in Orange, California. Her poetry has been published in The Christian Science Monitor, Boston
Literary Magazine, Flutter, Tin Foil Dress, Ken Again, Skyline Magazine,
Toronto Quarterly, Rose and Thorn, and others.