Serviceberries in June
It’s been a season since
I last saw you outside
my window. Less half a leg
and a limp gait, still approaching
me forthright. A handful of shadbush
berries stain my warm palm
as I lean forward in offering, eager
to amend for an unkind world.
Leaves crunch and twigs break
beneath my feet, slight hesitation
with each step and snap
of a branch. Have I gone too far,
too fast? Sustained verbal eye
contact with your white trimmed
face, or the best I could do
to be less of a thinking thing.
Posted Feb 16, 2026, 5:47 AM UTC
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