When I'm gone

Love Stays

Lockdown

Climbin' Tree

Change

The Cutting

Is this the first poem I wrote? I don't know. I think those first poems are lost or somewhere in a notebook and never made it into a computer file.

But this is an early poem. I remember the “cutting” (my dad was always planting flowers) being placed at the back of the kitchen sink under the window. It hadn't been put in a glass of water yet but there were spills already soaking it. This had to be in the house I lived in from the time I was ten. I would guess it was written during high school or soon after.

Many of these early poems came as fast as I could write them down. I think this was one.

It obviously invokes my belief in God which I had from early childhood even though our household was not particularly religious. But it was respectful of religion and I had a feeling of His presence several times growing up. There are other poems that attest to this feeling.

The Cutting

There was a flower cutting

over the sink

last morning

Drawing life

from careless spills.

From the wasted motions

of thoughtless strangers

As with a salve

its cut was healed.

I wonder if that

bud will blossom

or that fine mesh

of roots

will ever grow strong?

I wonder if ever

it will offer cuttings

to some gardener

of its own?

Someone’s left his fancy

there

forgot awhile

the rebirth

he was called to tend.

I’m ashamed to leave it

without offering a prayer

that the one

who gave it purpose

comes for it again.