Author: Elizabeth Maynard

Crimson fades to rust
violet to soft lavender:
Every flower dies

I have found more to give:
today shoes, tomorrow
the great sorrows

I'm tempted to say
I got lost along the way
but can one lose
what was never found?

Why only bake cake?
We could master all sweet things
this long afternoon

This is the day the Lord has made
let us dive deep into the thick of it
rose-hued and blushing
let every pleasure find you
and remind your soft heart
it is made more for love than struggle

I write out recipes
blueberry ink on rice-white cards
imagine smooth skins
as roots are pulled from wet earth
to fill basket, belly

I hear this young girl sing
alphabet strange on her tongue
all of it new
not yet burdened or constrained
by rules, rhthym, syntax
Be brave now, sweet child
before we cage your words

I can hide in short poems
like long grass, concealing
to risk long verse
or worse
rhyme, rhythm, meter
tell a long story
about my heart hard-broken
wandering and afraid
might be too much
I would run faster
than ink from a bleeding pen

The earth and I
welcome these last days (of)
rain before the long thirst

Women desperate
for better lives
cling to men
willing to pay for them