popsicle stick jokes

she is soft like grass and
honeybees; you are
born from wishbones and
popsicle stick jokes.
she grows lavender and sweet peas in her garden.
you drink from the hose and
she laughs.
it sounds like fireflies.

in september she wears
burgundy and gold.
you wear your heart in your throat.
when the aster blooms,
you tell her that it reminds you of her.
you don’t tell her
that everything else does,
too.

it doesn’t snow here.
that doesn’t stop her from sliding down hills
on lunch trays, tumbling breathless to your feet.
she grabs your wrist.
she can feel your pulse even through your gloves,
she says,
and tucks a violet behind your ear.
you can see her breath.

it is time to thaw.
you wear honey chapstick
and bring her lilacs.
she is new and sweet and gentle,
you kiss her
behind the church on easter.
she is patient, she is kind. you are
finally in bloom.

blossom by wynne rosehymns