Duanwu de Mayo #7

Shaun Anthony McMichael 
Miss Out on a Season, Listen to Your Inside Voice

Spring’s never going to come, says an inside voice.
So what of a few daffodils, crocuses,
and Camellias crisp with frost. Tulips, bluebells
deluge-drooped. Rhododendrons, sun, hydrangeas. Spring’s come and gone.

Doug Foreman
Our grotto in May

Green of spring swelling like foam insulation between studs
Yellow of blooms exploding like fireworks in the hallway
What swells, wrinkles and slinks away
What explodes, blackens and dissipates

John Keay
My friend Mr. Chippy

Rolling and scratching, panting and grating, I switch to tumble dry low
A circular patter of Spring, Summer, Fall, and Slumber, sleeping not to grow
The warmth brings the birds into their nests, into their final drywall rest
Hiding in the crack, the drying unit commits a foul 

Irene Yung
O Canto dos Homens

Three men with facial hair, bent, thoughtful
One woman with dark eyes, pursed, flitting
The iced drink chills the already cool rainy spring day
Gather old friends to warm with laughter

Shaun Anthony McMichael 
Light. The answer is always light

How can a dark knot come to life?
Why can a tuber unfurl into a flowering dish,
steaming with flavor for the tongue the way
blossoms stream color into the eye’s darkest part?

Annalise Nordtvedt Lathrop
Once an MK always an MK

Sometimes I don't have time to remember my roots
Life passes quickly and the roots were grown so far away
But sometimes I have a moment to stop and remember my roots
And I'm thankful but still gutted and wish I could feel my roots more.

Shaun Anthony McMichael 
The Night Ode to Joy was Born

Another round, pleads a weary heart.
Another reason to stray from home!
No more lime, the glasses all clouded.
Go! The dark study waits. Inspiration’s coming. 

Irene Yung
Margarita Refills

I ask, knowing the answer will be yes
He asks, hoping the reply will still be yes
Affirmations, bordering on trite
Starving for notice, cagily stalk the table

John Keay
Steep AND Sweet: The Perfect Temperature for the Beans is 198 Degrees

The patio glows with ripe anticipation; warm concrete 
Foundational of recourse, hidden in dewy steps
Small interesting life, 6 legs, and counting
Warm mug in hand, My heart is full of chirps