by Janice Bressler

You can tie your cosmos to a sunflower stalk,
grieve an old dog not long gone,
in morning soil black and wet.

Amend the soil with peat and sweat,
grieve your mother not long gone.
You can tie your cosmos to a sunflower stalk.

Scatter seeds and cast regret,
sing your mother’s favorite song
in morning soil black and wet.

Attend the planet’s etiquette:
plant your dead and water long.
Tie your cosmos to a sunflower stalk.

Worms and mothers eat regret.
They surface in the early dawn
in morning soil black and wet.

The birdbath fills with tears and sweat.
Pink morning glories wake and yawn.
You can tie your cosmos to a sunflower stalk
in morning soil black and wet.

Janice Bressler is a lawyer and writer living in San Francisco, California. Paper Crow, Beyond Words, and Gyroscope have published her poetry and her articles have appeared in the newspapers Richmond Review, Sunset Beacon and San Francisco Bayview, among others.