The blood comes in a rush
let everything fall where it will.

Jane Kenyon


goldenrodThe golden rod has dimmed and drags itself

toward the ground. Just weeks ago

its tassels dangled in the wind. A woman thought

( as she had not thought before) how they resembled

the gold trim on her nursery pillows. She took this as a sign

and felt the season would yield more — than red

sumac, apples and ferns. More than the expected red

found on a hunter’s moon and muslin lingerie

during the first or second week

of a monthly cycle. All Summer, she chewed wild herbs,

prayed to saints and made love

under sacred trees Still, nothing formed,

only condensation on the windows

and dust on the cradle. This afternoon

she kneels along the roadside, her fingers reddened

from the scratch of a dying bloom,  And her tears

the kind that saturate — like the rain that fell

flooding her garden last night.


  1. Wendy,

    Beyond grand, this poem has heart and soul.

    It relays the disappointment, the emotion, the depths
    of the longing and it does it in the language of Nature’s

    “the kind that saturate — like the rain that fell

    flooding her garden last night.”

    The close made my heart ache.

    Thank you for sharing the bounty of your pen and of your poet’s heart.



  2. Thank you so much Sarah!!

    I deeply appreciate your kind words and appreciation of this poem. This goes back to 2004 and has now been revised at least 3 or 4 times. I had based this on a woman from 1910 who wanted to have a child but nothing happened for years. Her sense of anticipation, efforts to succeed and then the realization that those efforts did not take fruition are poignant and unsettling. I wanted to capture that scenario in conjunction with the ways and conditions of nature, itself.

    Again, thank you
    My best always


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