The Last Flower

by Kathleen MacGregor Because his body sat itself down And I could almost hear… Because he thought he was alone, unwatched, unknown, Because I was home and could afford To spend some time, I opened my arms and heart to him, To us. And because I did, He spilled his worries and his sorrows- The purple bags beneath his blue eyes, His trembling hands, All the things he doesn’t know That he needs to learn To...read more

I am a Tree

And old. Fierce wind whips  ‘round me, loosens and scatters the dried leaves of weary, winter fears and leaves me almost naked.   Everyone, anyone can see me!   No full-grown leaves of modesty to cover my blemishes, the turn of my limbs, my knobby wrists and elbows. My begging arms, my ancient, grounded roots apparent.   I tremble, springing with the rush of air. Shake with the dread of being judged  too...read more