Tagged: son

because there is no

even this morning,

even this morning,
i am hearing for the first
time the tale of grandpa,
bringing home
a pot of Madagascar
periwinkle, and how
his business thrived
for as long as the
garden blossomed
and his seven
buds bloomed

for years, my father

for years, my father
rose before sunrise so that
we could sleep soundly –

we flourished in certainty
when love was something simple

daddy’s girl

son after son