Get Your Premium Membership

Remembering the Hothouse

Remembering the Hothouse for our daughters Wind skids on curves of trees, immured in ice, seeds sleep. Inside, I shiver. Then, from bean fields of the mind, coiling on propping studs of flesh ascends the blossoming hope; and I know that pregnant Sal, smoothed with cocoa cream sails snoring into birth. Her waters warm, protect, and part: the cargo singing in her crib melts the chill when wind skins bark and bones and every other year the chorus grows.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.