August Roses

TexasPoet

When Is It Dark Enough?
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Torturing concrete
flames beneath my bare feet
on the short walk
to the mail box.

St. Augustine bows
its brown spears
in prayerful petition
for rain.

Yesterday I trimmed
the roses to spare them
a dusty death,
watered the remaining leaves,
soaked the red bark mulch,
now dry as a liar’s lips.

Roots either sustain us
or do us in, drawing
from hidden waters
beneath what time’s
left behind.

Once we’re planted
we’re at the mercy
of what weather
comes our way.

I must put my faith in will
as I gingerly step
across the burning
concrete coal
laid out before me
like a laughing
gray tongue.
 
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Ambrosia

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This is excellent work.

I adore the stanza Laverne highlighted. But the one before it is equally impactful for me. Honestly I love the whole poem, Terry. Thank you for sharing it.