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Poem: Late Bloomer 

Deep beneath your feet,
I lie as still as ever
no more annoying tapping
of my foot
Funny thing,
what you miss when it’s gone

I see you standing above me,
carefully placing purple iris
and white daisies in terra cotta pots
Better friends now than ever
Funny thing,
my absence bringing us together

My favorites were always tulips
especially the ruby ones
bending their heads in prayer over the cut glass vase
The ones I picked at the grocery store
all winter long
Funny thing,
you never bothered while I was alive

I suffered, wrapped in a blanket
of loneliness at the end
Now you stand above me
a bouquet of sorrow for what is lost
Funny thing,
how they make you feel better

Speaking of...

  • A poem titled "Late Bloomer," by Suzanne B. Gillette.


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