Wind Blown Thistles || Leslie Cairns

 

by Leslie Cairns

Find me the most where five unforgettable pieces

fall.

One is a wedding: cocoa, thistle, wind-blown wildflowers.

The party is going, and instead I'm

running to the tallest tree

to remember the cabin,

both arms behind my back

in a diamond-shape as I shed

tears for the places that inevitably get left

behind.

 

Two, a feeding tube put in upside down and wrong.

The only traces now are three

man-made freckles:  tawny brown, left wrist only, and now

 

Turn towards grandmother's funeral in early spring,

where there's a white fold up chair, sitting naked.

Guests hurry to wait–

for I didn't make it there, empty spaces

where goodbyes should

stand, sit, be.

 

Five is my only calm reverie of you, arms moving,

teaching me to husk pock-mocked corn on the newly painted

green back porch.

Twist your arms like mine,

you softly spoke.

Your words, twine,

like resting, laurels, ivy.

 

You softly spoke.

Your words only found in numbering days before yellow school buses;

Your words are summertime.

Reminding me that your neck

is where I want to place my tossed

around, storm-clouded brain,

if only for a

moment.

 

Image Credit: Shutterstock

MEET THE POET

LESLIE CAIRNS is an MA English graduate from the Buffalo area. Currently she resides in Denver, CO. She worked with poet Carolina Ebeid through Denver Lighthouse Writers. She is a writer of all things pretty and ugly.