October 1, 2020

Pressing Flowers

I want to write a book of

poems about each of my

friends: the fierce blonde,

the silver-streaked twins,

a puff of poison

sweet as sugar,

an amber-eyed song

lodged in my throat,


Billy the goofball,

Nicole the weaver,

Gigi the funny,

Karen the sweet.


I’m more than low on time, but if you’d

give me just a moment, I could fill a

room, stuff it from floor to ceiling with

word after beautiful word, intertwining

like ribbon dancers; I could paint-stroke

each of you into eternity.

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