Without mercy

Sometime after storms flooded the night
my silver pot on the deck,
till now blooming pink and white,
swims puddled, confused by the deluge.

I open the screen and survey, barefoot, wet.
Two bent blossoms peer back at me from rutted dirt,
uncomfortably the focal point,
whether shyness or survivor’s guilt, I couldn’t say.
Together we view their sister petals now littering the lower walkway.

Did your roots have such a tentative grip on the soil, I ask, then let go?
Why so helpless, I say, so easily unmoored? Get a grip.

Their stems reach outward in a tangled web, anxious, unable to feed,
diminished in this disapproval of their sudden need
while even the sun behind the clouds turns gray and cold.

Jan H. Cooper

I have enjoyed writing again after years of focusing more on raising our four children while directing children’s ministries at church. Ironically, even though this poem is about gardening, my husband and I now live in a community without gardening options. -Jan

Tyler Rogness

Jan Cooper

After writing much in my childhood, and majoring in creative writing in college, I mostly left the writing life behind as an adult. Having four kids and a full-time job as children's director at our church didn't leave much time to spare. I've found myself returning to it in recent years. It's becoming a way to tie together my six-plus decades and put into words some of my experiences. I've also been working to complete a novel and occasionally still work on poems, my first love.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Get a Quote