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Carol Purington
Between memory
and the field where their house stood
new leaves on a dying tree
a pair of pileateds
peck into the past
She tells me
about amaryllis blossoms
flaring scarlet
almost out of thought
in the winter-dark cellar
Spring snowstorm
all day I watch
daffodils
disappearing like joy
in a swirl of might-have-beens
One of my books
for sale in the used bookstore -
handing money
to a clerk who smiles at me
and hopes I will enjoy it
You said farewell to me
with violets how many years ago
they withered
I didn't keep them
only their fragrance
Flesh-pink blossoms
and their reflections distant
in the night window
I switch off the lamp to erase
the pain of his scribbled words
Newspaper clipping
all of the poet's life and death
in her final book
lines about apple blossoms
promising the future
Carol Purington has been exploring Japanese verse forms, including haiku and tanka,
for more than two decades, employing imagery that reflects the rural New England landscape
by which she is nourished. Her poems have been published widely and have won recognition in international contests. Gathering Peace, a collection of tanka, is her newest book.
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