by Katherine Riegel



Spring has dropped
purples and yellows like someone
with so much abundance
they’re careless of loss.
Hot pink azalea bushes crouch
round across lawns
and I dream they wander,
peaceful as cows
but wiser. I’m not

from here, but even I know
the movies get it wrong.
No, I don’t believe everyone
who voted fear into power
is innocent, or merely misled
by money and lies. And no,
I don’t know why
the ignorant crowd under
the same umbrella with the rich
as though it’s designed
for more than one. Just—

I think if the land had a voice
it might say, like God said
to Job, You cannot understand.
That, I’m willing to believe,
even as I bow my head
and recite the litany
of beauty: wisteria, jasmine,
gardenia, bougainvillea, camellia…





Return to table of contents.