These flowers are not so blue
that they drain the radiance from
They merely accent your wink
and delicate fingernails.
They are not so strange that
they make you appear ordinary,
but they do hold my gaze
and my breath
for a moment longer than I should
Your impatience is not misplaced,
but I wish you had held onto
those petals a bit longer, and with a bit more care
so as not to break an old woman's heart.
Late Summer Rain
Lightning comes on summer afternoons,
the quiet violence of a forgotten lord.
She watches the sky cloud
and counts the seconds until the thunder comes.
A summer storm,
like the ignition of a flame or the
pulsation of an eye staring too intently
on a face looking away.
She likes to walk barefoot on the wet pavement,
run through muddy wheat fields,
and balance butterflies on her slick fingertips.
This afternoon ritual,
like a lover's return,
lifts her head and fills her body.
She is fresh, alive and new.
Every time she gives up, she can find a new reason to try again,
even if it's just for the late summer rain.
She closes her eyes and sucks in her breath,
her counting ceases as the thunder comes.
Katrina K. Guarascio is a graduate student at the University of
New Mexico with a focus in Secondary Education. Her poetry has
been published in many small literary magazines including
Poetalk, Nerve Cowboy, Write On!, Leonardo, and Rearview