Bloom

Spring birthed
your poet tongue—
worry dispelled in fragrant
medlar orchards on the hill,
where copse rang with thrush—
and your words wove
a tapestry of blue poems
and promises. You’d bury
your face in my auburn
hair, love-knots of youth,
on that green month of May
as we lay listening to flute-winds
through marsh reeds.
So—why
leave for a perilous sea,
incarnadine?
I pleaded, Stay.
Now, the spring
of your poems echoes
hollow like harbour
seals to and fro
in cavern coves.
How death divides.
Now, in summer-time
solitude I hold
you in my womb,
my body a prayer.
What if you’d known
your child would be
your best poem?
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Mona T. Lydon-Rochelle was born in Massachusetts and grew up in the coastal Northeast, the Philippines, and Washington, D.C. She is a writer, epidemiologist, and midwife and was a professor at the University of Washington and the University of College Cork, Ireland. Her poetry collections include On the Brink of the Sea, and Mourning Dove. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband.

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