Having Died Suddenly
by and published in Edition Three of Pomegranate
Strollers roll
over petals, fallen from
the gated tree
to the sidewalk,
on the way to the park.
Our calendar
has washed away the dark
allowing mothers
a feeling of safety.
Lately I snap Polaroids
of flowers, having died
suddenly. They retain
the near-same color
of youth. Petals wrinkle,
fall, and lay unburied;
and these strollers
are unhurried on 70 degree
Saturdays. From them erupts
a gurgle, a coo. Mother knows
it’s nothing new. Her child loves
the rain
falling, pink and pure
from blossoms into the bosoms
of the city.
E Kristin Anderson
E. Kristin Anderson grew up in Westbrook, Maine, moved to the Big Apple in 2006 and in 2008 is starting a new adventure in Texas. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Mimesis, iota, Etchings, RE:AL, the Cimarron Review, fuselit, Umbrella, and Fourteen Hills among others. Emily holds a BA in Classical Studies from Connecticut College and really likes the smell of old Latin texts. She shares a house with her boyfriend, Mark, and three cats with eleven legs in Austin.