Pruning by Beth Oast Williams

You whisper that wilting

flowers remind you of some

uncomfortable prayer,

then grab your grandmother’s

rusted shears to cut the blooms

of their bowing heads.

Gone are the neon fuchsia

and purple Monarda

from the garden. No more bee balm

or afternoon tea. You sit alone

by the upstairs window, a stunt

to be closer to rain, if it comes.

But this is no magic trick, clouds

are not in on the joke.

_________________

Beth Oast Williams is the author of the chapbook Riding Horses in the Harbor (Finishing Line Press, 2020). Her poetry has been accepted for publication in Nimrod, Salamander, Leon Literary Review, SWWIM, One Art, Dialogist, Invisible City and Rattle's Poets Respond, among others, and nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize.