Author: Tamiko Lowery

Blue Roses

shopping

for groceries

but lost in the flowers

veered over

to the boxes of boutonnieres

lined up on the shelf

like mini black caskets

these weren’t the plastic pathetic kind

the box said real

behold a blue rose

that never dies

ironically the rose will last

a long, long time

so long as

you keep it away from the rain

and the sun

perfectly preserved petals

that never age

or crumble

embalmed beauty

for the masses

not even a rose can die

naturally

‘cause of shoppers like me

who buy up all three

TL

Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood

as an orphan

from Korea

i learned English

stateside

from Mr. Rogers

my first mentor

and the kindest man

i ever knew

TL

The Lake

the road

is the same road

nothing’s changed

about it

in 20 years

only my shadow

has

it used to fly down the road

with a hummingbird heart

before the coffee was brewed

and the dogs barked

then down to the dock

the stillness of the water

rippled only by a fish

or a turtle peering up

or a bass boat crawling by

I’d stare at the water

like some stare at fire

thinking or not thinking

that’s the part

that hasn’t changed

TL

Your Own Table

there’s some

thing

about cooking

your little meal

in your little kitchen

that makes it

a little more

fulfilling

TL

Intersection

if you keep

in mind

the line

behind you

the lines

beside you

and the line

ahead of you

you’ll better

understand

the lines

how they

connect

the beginning

the ending

and everything

in-between

TL

he was gone

before the ink could dry

on the page

nothing slowed him down

for long

like Rocky, he got up

he wasn’t anywhere near perfect

but he was real

and if he loved you or hated you

you felt it

he could talk to anybody anywhere

at anytime

he had tremendous empathy

for the down and out

the hopeless and hurting

he could relate to the pain

and loss

he’d give a stranger his last dollar

and if you had no family to stay with

he’d be your family

no matter what he’d been through

or how hard it was

he remained hopeful

and grateful

humble and kind

he might of been a newspaper man

to some

but to me and to many

he was a teacher

who could teach you a thing or two

about life

he sure didn’t waste it

like that Blake Shelton song

“man, he lived it …”

TL

The Moth

betrayed

would you then fall

away

and disappear

into the mountains

sit somewhere by the sea

and forget how forgotten

flowers fade in vases

ripe fruit rots

in the bowl

the wind is roaring

through the field

no trees to shield

or shelter

quiet is the night

that whispers early in the morn

and the birds are still singing their song

as the white moth dies a slow death at the door

and if I could talk to him

I’d ask him why

why does he keep coming back

to the flame

knowing he’ll get burned

time and again

is it because he’s stupid

or full of hope

or blind

or all of the above

who knows

or maybe after being burned

by so many beautiful brilliant bulbs

he just stopped feeling the singe

and became numb to it

this can happen overnight

which, of course, means the beautiful brilliant bulbs

can’t hurt him anymore

as he lies dying at my door

he doesn’t hurt anymore

‘cause he’s finally free

to fly

TL

Returning

when something

breakable

breaks

like the heart

it cracks open

creating space

and as time goes by

the space spreads out

f u r t h e r

this gives the soul somewhere

to wander about

as it waits its turn

to go home

TL

The Dying

in the abyss

one searches

the dark

in a timeless night

forgetting all things

backward

and forward

all the steps

it took

to get there

and then you’re there

at the ending

when all you want

is the beginning

when you were first born

shaking and lost

and somebody wrapped you up

and held you close

and you could hear their heart beating

and it was familiar to you

this soothing rhythmic sound

from far and away

and then you were asleep

TL

A Wrong Turn

she woke up

that morning

70

he woke up

that morning

32

she had never met him

before

he had never met her

before

for whatever reason

they were both traveling

the same road

that night

at exactly the same time

and for whatever reason

he was driving in the wrong direction

she had no time to react

they died on impact

TL

The Wind

the blades

of grass

clean shaven

down the stretch

after the rain

the black bird struts

his stuff

the squirrels race

to the top

turtles are sunning

on the bank

minnows moving

in the pond

a butterfly remembers

when

it had no wings

and wastes no time

resting on flowers

as if it knows

the wind will take it

wherever it goes

TL

Summer

in a single

s e c o n d

the sun fell

soft

into the sea

leaving suds

to wash and fold

the sand

that dried between

my toes

TL

U.S. Navy RE-1 Heath Phillips

I salute you

for your courage

for your bravery

for your heart

you never fought

in war

and yet you

saved so many lives

more than you’ll ever, ever

realize

may you finally

sleep at night

and wake up

in the morning

free

TL

The Beach

there’s an endless rack

of white lace

rows as far

as the eye

I spend 5 days

slipping dresses on

and off

taking my time

pearls

or no

my bare feet

tip toe

across silk

I shed something

sad

as I return

the dresses

I wore

and put the pearls

back

in their shell

TL

Winding a music box

brief

but beautiful

like the days

a butterfly lives

like a song

that plays 3 minutes

you hear at 100

like a passage

in a book you read

when you were young

and when you were old

you understood

like a meal

that took hours and hours to make

and minutes to devour

but there’s something about the flavor

and you search for it

at every table

like a movie

on the big screen

that made you sit there

after it was over

and everybody left

and went home

like a snow day

you have to roll in it

and throw it

and catch it

and make it last

like a garden

that bears in the summer

and folds in the fall

like a dog

after a bath

like a firefly

at night

like candles

on a cake

like fireworks

in July

like Legos

in small hands

like skipping a stone

across the sea

like a dance

first and last

like saying hello

and then

saying you gotta go

that last look

before the eyes

close

TL

Rushing

it’s raining

outside

she stirs her cup

and listens

the sound of it

like a rush

over rocks

saturates the soil

a stream in the street

hurries to the grill

seated in the gutter

the symphony rises

to ovation

from the belly below

a tire splashes

over

like drops hitting the tops

of umbrellas

they hurry home

TL

Mr. May

I’m sorry

I didn’t attend

your funeral

yesterday

even if I’d known

I wouldn’t have been able

to go

‘cause you can’t be in two places at once

unless you’re in that scene in The Notebook

anyway, I should have been there

and if I’d been there

I would’ve known

and not had to read about it

I just couldn’t make myself do it

I wanted to see you again

but I couldn’t get out of the car

I couldn’t walk through the parking lot

and punch in the code

and wait for the doors to open

and walk past the nurses’ station

and into your room

you on one side

and someone new on the other

I just couldn’t do it

I thought about it … a lot

but I couldn’t get past the pain

and I’m sorry

for that

I’m sorry,

Mr. May

TL

At Peace

in England

tiny bells

of lily

were ringing

at the noon

hour

and an empty seat

was saved

a quiet in the crowd

like a leaf on water

her little boy

grown up

and married

to a woman

she would have chosen

to sit by

TL

In the Fields

daisies are

such

happy flowers

light on their petals

they have buoyancy

in their range of movement

from the buggy

to the breeze

to the car

to the counter

to the vase

they have a special place

in the fields of my heart

they outlast

even the rose

and when they die

as ballerinas do

they simply bow their haloed heads

a ring of white feathers

whirling and twirling

into the wings

out of the spotlight

off stage

they find a quiet corner

and rest

TL

Leaves

six

feet

under

requires

more

than

a

shovel

it

can

take

decades

to

dig

out

the

dirt

to

get

to

the

bone

by

then

the

skin

is

gone

like

a

tree

in

the

cold

nothing

left

but

branches

bare

were

it

not

for

the

memory

of

Spring

TL