Skip to content

Full Bloom

Full Bloom

the bulb

glowed

by her door

chandelier of yellow shade

much too small to read by

but big enough to see the print

beyond the day

she buried it

no promises of bloom

or a season chair to sit

dark it lay beneath the bed

sleeping ever sound

not even her steps would rouse

nor the vibration of her voice

calling for him

and in the daily dish

and market fare

and Sunday sermons

who, what, where

the bulb but memory

distant as a child

grown and gone

and widowed there

she waited

not for promises of bloom

or a season chair to sit

late of day, long of night

her vase already full

by the door she stood

no sound she made

yet he heard her

calling for him

TL

Published inTamiko Lowery