Sweet Peas
I planted them early spring
in window boxes
outside the dining room.
They bloomed in profusion by May,
deep purple petals opening like a prayer
held back for too long.
Entwined on bamboo stakes
they climbed up the glass,
illuminated by radiant June sun.
Late July, they are fading…
cling to their stakes the way
you still cling to life…
which is why seeing them
wilt, fold, fall
breaks my heart a bit every day.
I prop them up carefully,
notice long seed pods hanging,
ready to be picked and stored away.
I’ll plant my sweet peas again next year,
enjoy their dark purple beauty,
perennial as my memories of you will be.
Kate Aver Avraham loves words whether she is writing them, editing them or reading them. She has been published numerous times, including her book of poems, Arms of My Longing from Blue Light Press. She lives in Aptos, Ca. at the glorious edge of the redwood forest and is an Associate Editor of the Monterey Poetry Review.
I planted them early spring
in window boxes
outside the dining room.
They bloomed in profusion by May,
deep purple petals opening like a prayer
held back for too long.
Entwined on bamboo stakes
they climbed up the glass,
illuminated by radiant June sun.
Late July, they are fading…
cling to their stakes the way
you still cling to life…
which is why seeing them
wilt, fold, fall
breaks my heart a bit every day.
I prop them up carefully,
notice long seed pods hanging,
ready to be picked and stored away.
I’ll plant my sweet peas again next year,
enjoy their dark purple beauty,
perennial as my memories of you will be.
Kate Aver Avraham loves words whether she is writing them, editing them or reading them. She has been published numerous times, including her book of poems, Arms of My Longing from Blue Light Press. She lives in Aptos, Ca. at the glorious edge of the redwood forest and is an Associate Editor of the Monterey Poetry Review.
