Terri Lynn Cummings
Just as the heat
of late summer
causes my potted plants
to wilt
and shed leaves and petals,
I go to my garden
of words
to pluck dull poems—
once blooming
but now weeping
with life’s insults—
and fertilize worn soil
hoping the next seeds
I sow take root
and blossom for good
Poet’s Notes: What writer does not have reams of discarded work waiting for redemption? In the heat of late August, my potted plants wilt, shed leaves and petals, just like poems on my computer. How fun it was to metaphor a garden to a poem!
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