such big returns
on a small investment
the roadside stock
of purple and white
irises

Today is the 17th anniversary of my mom's death. Today Nate graduates from college.

the flowered cat
in its new home
her eyes catch
the same sunlight
you had while you were painting

We miss you.

breast cancer
in remission
a friend's path
bordered by a multitude
of pink azaleas

somewhere in 
the worn-out elbows
of a mother's jacket
all the hours she spent
lifting up others

it starts with
the cicada
a summer's morning
the pulse of feverish clicks
before slowing down

yellow trash bags
along a stretch 
of adopted highway
the sharpness of a crow's beak
ripping through the plastic