Inspired by Tonya Riddle,
Wife, Mother, Sister,
Nurse, Poet, Gardener,
and a
friend

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The littlest things you all say, the lightly remarked,
or weighty beloved ones, 100% guarantee a smile
or a tear, no difference, but all press me to grab
the nearest papyrus, to ink that notion, an
untimely timely near midnight revelation,
requiring a scribing to permanent-seal that moment’s
custom potion, via magnification.

It ain’t easy, kinda of reverse curse from
the many wintry months of the ‘tion’s absence:
motivation, inspiration, perspiration go
on a round-the-world cruise and when
they don’t  invite you along, in-truth,
semi-secretly, poetry is kinda de-relevationed (less urgent)

For I have seen a picture, a memorial garden bounteous,
Jordan’s Garden,
so late night, kind words exchanged in reciprocation,
as we both stagger gently into sleep and a new
twenty-four, and here, and I hear, the realization
thoughts inescapable, demanding: creation, visitation,
& ******, a instantion ripening and

Fruition.

A lovely word this one, for it’s strawberry season
on the north fork of the isle, accompanied by
imported Carolina peaches,
and when the roadside farm stands offer them for
sale, included is a a couple of paper towel slices,
for the fruition juices runneth over
(stain stick not included)

So just before midnight, the electrons and (t)ions inform
that tonight, a calming of words, revelations of affection,
salve the grieving heart that runneth over
which surely was my intention,
as well as a celebration of commemoration, and in
calming you friend, my eyes wet, not realizing, that
I’ve written a smile upon my lips, a precursoration to a
rarity, a well and good night’s sleepy and hallowed
restoration.

7:47 AM Mon Jun 26