Lynn White

Rosie

Can I be a rose?

Yes, I think so.

It’s my calling,

after all.

And I have pinkish skin

and rosy cheeks.

And I am as multi layered, 

as complex, as any

petalled rose

worth my name.

Yes, that’s for sure.

Is there a fragrance 

on my breath?

I like to think so.

And will it be discernible,

sniffable,

rosily perfumed?

Yes, especially 

in the moist evening,

but take care not to 

disturb my roots,

to cut me off

and watch

me fade

away.

First published in the Electronic Pamphlet, February 2017

Rosamunde

“Happy Easter!” you said.

I’m trying to smile

as I thank you.

“She’s called Rosamunde”, you said,

a pretty name for a pretty chicken.

I try to smile as I thank you.

for Easter eggs to come.

I wonder if I should show you my new garden,

but perhaps now is not the best of times.

I wonder what Rosamunde will make

of it’s neat parade of flowers

and it’s spotless deck. 

I try to smile

as I thank you 

for Rosamunde

your generous gift

of Easter eggs to come.

First published by Nine Muses Press, March 2020

Summer Days

We know they’re coming,

we can see them and hear them

those days of soda and pretzels and beer.

The birds have sung an opening chorus 

for the pollen laden bees to hum

and the flowers show ready for the main event.

On patios the barbecues are lit and smoking 

about to sizzle like skin with no sunscreen.

But 

last year was different,

crazier and crazier

as we stayed at home 

carefully distanced

in our hazy miasma

of enforced laziness

waiting and hoping

that soon the cloud

hanging over us

will blow away.

First published in Scrittura, October 2020