Every summer it happens—It happens that I become paralyzed,Paralyzed, that is, with the decisionAs to which of my girlsTo nickname “Peach.”The paralysis stems from the considerationThat each one is worthy,And to a verifiable extent:Dear to my heart,Locally sourced,As fresh as summer dew,With a hint of tartness,Rosy as the dawn,And a sublime companion to waffles. JulyContinue reading “Peaches”

The Desk of My Daughter

The desk of my daughterAt the window facing westIsn’t cleared before dinnerDespite her mother’s behest. A clean desk would be(Though it’s never been seen)A surface that’s flat,Polished, shiny, and clean. But much like the worldOn the Out side of the pane,The girl at the deskNever stays just the same. She’s constantly growing,Thinking, changing, creating.The worldContinue reading “The Desk of My Daughter”