“On Tuesday, when there was popcorn rain, we moved away from the windows and we moved into the libing room to be away from the windows.”
I hope I never call hail “hail” again.
Speaking of popcorn, the colors of seeds and silk are inverse from our sweet corn.
Amidst record lows, summer is coming.
I likely could have pulled this cilantro when it bolted.
And probably should have when the flowers were spent and the plant limp and scraggly.
But, I thought, what about the coriander seeds?
And so I waited.
The tribe of lady bugs are ever present, and likely ever grateful that wait I did.
Something tells me I was meant to wrest these shallots free ages ago. Yes? No? Anyone know?
Sometimes, it is the seeds sown
yet not grown
that burn the memories deepest.
Sometimes, it is the stories
their beating in my skull.
Sometimes, it is the same pain,
I find it hard to breathe.