You finish pouring the hot nearly clear liquid
with a small upward move at the end.
What should I do with my violets?
You ask each time I come. Each time
I say, More light. And when the plant
grows too large I say, Start over.
It’s time to start over.
Sweet pea tendrils wind around the tea cup.
Cream, green and yellow blossoms sit
on the saucer waiting for a spring
that never seems to come.
When I think of you I think of color.
The purple you wore as a statement,
the thread you used to draw scenes
in embroidery, the volume of Japanese
blues you bought at the Art Institute.
Your boys have cleared out the books
and the fibers, all treasures divided,
tossed or donated to a charity shop
where some young woman will discover
sweet peas suspended in glaze living on,
unconcerned about getting enough light
or growing too large for the pot.
Mary C. Rowin’s poetry has appeared in various publications such as Panopoly, Stoneboat and Oakwood Literary Magazine. Recent awards include poetry prizes from The Nebraska Writers Guild and from Journal from the Heartland. Mary’s poem “Centering,” published in the Winter 2018 issue of Blue Heron Review, was nominated for the Pushcart Anthology. Mary lives with her husband in Middleton, Wisconsin.