grandmother – The Poetry Patio

Pinehurst

Golf townsand and spapines and pubscoddled traditions and legendsaround every corner My Grand-merealways spoke of azaleassparkles in her milky eyesand soft hands arounda pottery cup of chicory coffee another timeanother placeanother south This poem is a second one that I wrote for the photo, with the villanelle being shared on Tupelo Press’ website for thisContinue reading “Pinehurst”

Azalea

I can still hear her voicetalking about them, bloominglike a bright gentle flowerfrom the bushes along the greens and fairwayssweet and slow as asouthern afternoon, spiced uplike the wine-soaked pork chopsand etouffet she loved to make I can still feel her hands,floral with lotion and softas butterfly’s wings, plusalmost as fragile,navigating the click ofknitting needlesContinue reading “Azalea”