As Mourning Doves Persist

Tiniest sputter  of butter and scoop snowflake. Bed sheets embroidered. Nosegays as little atoms in lieu of sugar plums. Rearranging photo Marcy Albin stomach muscles to rise slowly onto one side. Each stretch a sunburst, patiently seeking.  Rain pouring through canale. Heirloom intricate.

photo Marcy Albin All that is red takes protection from grandmother dragon. Green shawl spread in the garden. She holds her mouth open as she harvests. Tomatoes and cucumbers placed in glass jars. Lipstick tubes of lionesses guard inner incisions not seen, but sensed in half sleep. Seamless tick, and bearing down. God’s floral spill hails to climb this skeletal trellis, as lymph river runs on rising steam. Dreams inhabited with newborn microscopic fur. Tiny pirate ships launch for home with tattered flags, weary legs.

photo Marcy Albin Morning glory spread to show this, her stamen, blanched. Finger tips lightly touch pink incisions. Anesthesia around the edges of waking fear of spotting. Breath creasing pillow halo with post op white spikes. Belly bloated as this trumpet of recovery. Name I recognize.

photo: Marcy Albin Pot of spent pollen prickly with armor. Darkens to honeycomb sap. Recoil petals curl. Fallow tubes and knife tongue meet. Small tools burrow in. This morning, upright. Plumped up. Anticipate touch. I will not concede. Look at me, all of me, what has sloughed off and is Never forgotten. Each seed a center. Bite of butterscotch and fire. Readied for the fight.

Exactly one month ago today I had a full-on hysterectomy as a result of the discovery of very early stage endometrial cancer. The ample support that I received from family and friends arrived with quirky, loving, and tender care  - prayer candles lit on an Hawaiian island. One Mormon friend fasting. Baptists in Texas doing what, I'm not sure exactly.    Among the myriad and personalized gifts that arrived were cell phone snapshots sent daily by a friend whose photos I have long admired. Thus, I became the recipient of a literal (virtual) flower a day.  Post surgery and back on my feet, so to speak. I've set myself an intention to pen haiku (or whatever marginally resembles same) to accompany each individual stem.  I begin: photo: Marcy Albin (for Bob and Delaney) If you peek into the center of pale withdrawn. You will spot the dew  there. Tentative as fear. One day to surgery  and puckered charcoal eye readies to be plucked from delicate diseased.  C