The Pumpkin Grower
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Her Hands
Her Hands
Her hands are red, chapped, cold
big fingers, short nails.
She’s been hanging clothes on the line
in coldest winter again.
The sheets come in dried and frozen
stiff, fresh and breezy.
When they warm
everyone wants them on their bed.
Her hands are red, peeling, hot
big fingers, short nails.
She’s been rinsing the dishes
in boiling water again.
She’s stacked the foggy plates
into the dish drainer
where they dry instantly,
no germ stands a chance of survival.
Later, she takes up her crocheting
chapped, raw hands, no longer red
big fingers, short nails.
How delicately she maneuvers the threads.
Her wedding band wore through long ago
from too much floor scrubbing her daughter said.
A delicate diamond would look silly on
those wide fingers that never saw a manicure.
Hands that plant purple petunias, pull weeds
big fingers, short nails dirty and torn.
She scrubs them clean until they’re red.
They smooth my hair and say I love you.
© photo and poem caf
Death of a Hummingbird
The Hummingbird’s Death
The hummingbird on the stone walk
outside my door
lay so still
I picked him up tentatively
thinking he was dreaming
but his eyes remained closed
and my eyes found tears.
What happened to you?
I whispered to his softness…
No answer
I buried him in my garden
near some sage
and placed a stone
to mark the spot.
By way of eulogy
I wished him joyous flight
and offered prayers of awe
that in my hand
I had held Magic wrapped in feathers.
©photo and poem by caf
Finding the Heart
Finding the Heart
She stood on stones in the creek crying
Someone asked why are there tears in all this beauty?
She answered
because the creek flows
the raven croaks
the wind sings to my heart.
This flesh that grew around my spirit
wants to dance in the rain
cry in the sun
roll in grass
quiver with aspens.
Why is this?
Butterfly answers
my spirit measures travel in and out of itself
in generations
and doesn’t count the miles
or wonder why.
It only knows it must travel.
Rain tells her
Stop managing your tears,
they are the way you find your heart.
©photo and poem by caf
In Spring
In Spring
When the morning makes itself pink
and sometimes orange
and the clouds wear dark blue
and the rain stops for a moment,
the clean chill in the air
finds her bones
and calls them to love even the coyotes
who ate the deer
even the deer who ate her Magnolia
even the dead mouse in her cellar,
for Spring mornings renew the world
renew her body.
She says
I think I could run and live forever
if it were always Spring.
© photo and poem by caf
A Snowy Day
A Snowy Day
She walked through her garden in winter
among old flowers brown and gray
sapped of green youth
and soft, tender growth.
Aged stalks moved stiffly in the frigid breeze
although their shadows on rippled snow
swayed nimbly – the only evidence of grace
remaining near their hardened bodies.
Old seed pods and husks clacked and rattled
against each other
shedding their hearts
with each gust of wind
It’s simple, she thought, someday everything comes to this
the bare beauty of a snowy day
the sharing of seeds
and gentle shadows on the snow.
© photo and poem by caf
A Day Like This
A Day Like This
Some days are made for gazing
long into the distance
where dusty words
are excused from stale thoughts
as your body wears a rut into a comfortable chair
by a big window overlooking a field or forest.
Some days are for ruminating, wondering
about nothing much at all
but who’s coming up the road
and why the lilacs are budding so soon
while dishes soak in the sink
and floors beg for a sweeping.
Some days never rise
but lie napping by a snoring dog
who barks between snorts
while the leash lies idle
and coat sleeves remain empty.
If such a day should come to you
tend to it as you would a sleeping child
let it relax, keep it safe
treasure it and check on it often
for such days are when your soul grows
your life’s poetry.
© photo and poem by caf
Baby Sunflowers
Sunflower Seeds Meet The Full Moon
They sprout from safe darkness
dirty heads wearing remnants
of the seeds that birthed them
for now they are but inconsequential stalks
living on my window sill
While the pompously bright but barren moon
ogles them (I imagine enviously)
– these springy suns to be.
© photo and poem by caf
So She Planted Sunflowers
Sunflowers
It’s 25 degrees outside
cold as January is, biting winds
so today she planted Sunflower seeds.
Helianthus with the brown faces
and bright yellow rays
will soon atone for absent sun.
Lonely fields empty, frozen
garden life suspended
so today she planted Sunflower seeds.
Mostly a defiant act
their growth to be offered as proof
that winter and death do not control her heart.
© poem and photo by caf
Lazy Moon
Passing the Light
Lazy moon in her bed of night sky
makes no light of her own
but only reflects the sun
and trusts the earth to keep her orbit steady.
She lights our darkest world
and her burnished body covers the pines in lacy glow and shadow.
Yes, this spoiled child creates miracles of beauty while doing nothing
but sharing the light she has been given.
©photo and poem by caf
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