Lorraine Schechter

Gifts

by

Lorraine Schechter

a Sung landscape, mountains
extending into stillness
broken by the light tremolo
of a lark on a branch
drawn with a single stroke,

a house filled with roses
yellow dipped in the same sunset
as the Sangre de Cristos,

mums so opulent, their spidery reach
makes nests for hovering butterflies,
bees painted yellow with nectar,

pansies, the color of cream
the orange of dried blood ready to plant
inviting the garden into full bloom,

a celadon cup, the throaty
music of Nina Simone, ripe
strawberries hand dipped in white,
then dark chocolate, its drip
caught in the drying.

Tu Fu said a good rain knows its season—
a photograph of the first buds
of Spring wet with rain.