POETRY POSTCARD MONTH


Once again, it's August and that means it's Poetry Postcard month. Here's one from my first week. I wrote it under the thrall of Mary Oliver's "The Messenger."


Maple leaves wrinkle in a breeze.
A bank of St. John's Wort.
Unmown grass. Dandelions
and plantain. My work today
is the same work as yesterday:
to love this corner of the world
I'm sprung up in, accidental
and purposeful as a weed.

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