Carolyn Miller: By the Time
By the time the light reaches us, empty
sunflower fields are pitted with more craters.
Jim Daniels: Strawberry
the final time I saw my mother
she was trying to find
the last strawberry on her plate
Valerie Bacharach: Passover
I lay a Haggadah by a chair,
unoccupied.
Unearth my Seder plate,
place upon it shank bone, egg, parsley,
bitter herbs. My bitter tears.
Jeffrey Harrison: Disconcerting
The word became the mantra of
her last few years, which were, in fact,
often disconcerting: her descent
into dementia, her cancer diagnosis,
her fall, her fractured hip.
Susan Kelly-DeWitt: The Moon Is Doing The Australian Crawl
my mother has worked her way up
through the wave-rungs
of the spirit-corps’ fleshless ladder—
secretary of the afterworld
Al Ortolani: Paper Birds Don’t Fly
Sitting at the table with the paper birds,
she unfolded mine and began to read.
I couldn’t make out a word
she was saying.
Kari Gunter-Seymour: Conflagration
I hoped returning
would spark memories, fill her with light,
the way the heat of day warms the bones.
Lisa Zimmerman: That Blue
When the poet said blue city of bees
I was reminded of the blue cotton robe
my husband gave me, a shade my mother loved
Kari Gunter-Seymour: That Spot where Raccoon Creek Meets Brush Fork
I wish I could say
I lay your body under the honeysuckle
the day you crossed over, let vine and wisp
hang nectar all around you.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Then, you stop
Then, you stop weeping. Lift your face from your hands.
James Crews: Tomatoes
He came back grinning, gripping
a bag of homegrown Beefsteaks so fat
they were already bursting their juices
through the brown paper