for Lorraine Oman Hanover
On the receding back porch (where I no
longer go for fear of falling through) sits
a plastic pot from my gardening days. It
has long been allowed to go its own way,
absorbing any and all manner of naughty
Feral seeds blown upon it by the wild winds
of Michigan. But this year, after the passing
of the autumnal equinox, when the hours of
daylight were quickly ebbing away and
the balance of this season’s blooms were on
a flight path to dishevelment, I saw what
could only be described as the last hurrah of
warm weather: a defiant, small white trumpet
shaped flower. A morning glory? Where there
had been only a strange green item growing
all summer (sans any bud) there came a solitary
blossom as though waving a colourless
handkerchief at the departing season.
A smile and sadness rendered all at once.
B.A. Brittingham writes both poetry and fiction. She has published three novels and two chapbooks. Poetry has appeared in Kitchen Sink Magazine, the ocean waves, Words for the Earth, the Crone’s Words, Green Shoe Sanctuary, Halcyon Days, The Emblazoned Soul Literary Review, Dear You-Poems Through the Heart, Culture Cult, About Time Anthology, and The Writers’ Journal.