is on my side. So let that gray bastard rant with blustering fists.
I drive home in silence. Grocery sacks spill across the back seat,
frozen vegetables in no danger of thawing in their bags.
Along the street, trees scratch at the sky with skeptical branches–
dates don’t make them forgive. They want to be seduced
by longer, warmer days before they’ll surrender
in succulent bud.
But daffodils present themselves right now, by the front door.
I bring them inside and bundle them into a vase.
Bright faces watch as I fix supper, elegant guests
join me tonight at my table.
— Ramona McCallum
Ramona McCallum earned her B.A. in Creative Writing and Literature from Kansas State University in 1999. She currently lives in Garden City, Kansas with her husband Brian McCallum, a ceramic artist, and their 6 children. Ramona works as her husband’s editor and artist’s assistant, and she also teaches 7th grade English Communication and Poetry at a local middle school. Her poetry has appeared in journals such as Organization and Environment and Zone 3.