Perennial by Patricia Guzman | Poetry Magazine
poetryfoundation.org · 143 words · saved by 1 readers
First spring rain and I can’t begin a line like this again
Share First spring rain and I can’t begin a line like this again without remembering you were here this time last year. When I think of being a mother, my mind goes blank like a mountain. How little I know about things that grow no matter what. I wanted to hold this illusion forever, so each time grief came, I closed my eyes and let sleep in. But Brother, what do you call a plant that lives more than a couple of years? Scars from a fryer on your arms, and others I couldn’t question, held me briefly and many times must have plucked me from the ground. Everything I want you to know you already k
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