October 10, 2010

Bee Balm

Fool’s cap,
jester’s crown,
Monarda blooms
its rubied head off
for a month.
Brilliant courtiers,
hummingbirds
dart in
out
and are gone.
Too soon
the scarlet circlet topples,
usurped
by a pincushion top,
now nut-brown,
peasant-plain,
fit only for a bee’s
honeyed tongue.

Growing up and into adulthood, my mom frequently told me “You think too much. Don’t think so much.” She probably wanted to spare me the heartbreak and sadness she had in her life. Her advice didn’t stick.

Now in my 60s, encouraged by my husband Bill and a number of friends who’ve read my long, possibly tedious, e-mails on various subjects over the years, I'm putting my thoughts out for the world, or whoever stumbles across this site, to read.

You can’t post comments on this site, but if you’re compulsed to say something, you can drop me a note.

C

To the love of my life

My husband Bill is my editor, critic, personal Crayola King, and the designer of this site. He makes me better than I am.

C

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