poems by Dorris Brandt Lincoln
13.
Deep among
the blossoms
of trillium,
wild geranium,
we find the violet
blooms abundantly.
My choice is to gather
extravagantly, secure:
the seed will set,
ripen, freely come again.
Sparrow sings through woods and window
while a pot bubbles water to a dance,
steeps blossoms silently as meditation
through the night.
Violet jelly
is sweet to the eye
as to the tongue.
April harvest of content
brings us to the longest days of sun,
the shortest nights of stars when
cinquefoil, Queen Anne’s lace, shelter
wild strawberries
coming on.
23.
Friend,
you have done me
many kindnesses.
Countless may be,
and sometimes
deep as my self
the wounds that
you have soothed.
No doubt it was
the greatest gift,
allowing me
to comfort you.
photograph by Catharine Krieps | poem submitted by Kai Immler