Morning Glory

Welcome back to Poetry Monday. Heat waves are driving everyone on the West Coast to seek relief from the oppressive sizzle outside. Hope today’s poem offers some comfort to my readers. Be well.


How blessed is this scourge that blankets

the ground, salutes the early rising sun

with white trumpets.

Vines twine around trees,

twists into tight ropes and choke,

a gasp the wind carries in its teeth.

Fear knots like the pale spot you saw

on  film, the possible blot

blooming in gray blurs of tissue.

When the picture proves wrong, worry rises

like summer raindrops on hot cement

that vanish, a memory of weather.

Nothing to wind inside your chest,

no seed to flower, spread

like loosestrife or buttercup.

For now, your year is free of weeds,

even if your garden is not.

For now, your body is your own.

J.K. Stangeland

This entry was posted in America, Death and Dying, Health and wellness, Hope, Medicine, Poetry, Thoughts & Musings and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Morning Glory

  1. Beautiful poem, and yes we have another heat wave coming to the west coast this week, lol.

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