This entry is part 5 of 9 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Summer 2016


Sun-blasted, sun-scorched,
leaves from the African violet

have fallen limp across the edge
of the pot— But feed it too much

water and it could drown inside
its own cells. Too much sorrow,

too much joy, and it’s as if time
saws one off one more limb

in the unseen canopy. Sometimes
you don’t know exactly where a storm

is passing, only hear the deep
bassoon in the grey distance,

while the heart floats like a pickle
in the juice of its own fears.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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