Nicole Johnson

Day after day I pray for good news.

A sign of life’s presence past the toxicity brewing in here.

One foot in front of the next,

She postures–

Feathers smoothed as the sun peeked through.

Moving toward the Magnolia tree,

Branches stretched,

With late blooms reaching their peak.

I’ve sat here, day after day

Wept for us,

But mostly for me.

Mother nature’s beams highlighting us,

Only to poison me.

For the first time, her voice is raw and uncertain,

As I rock myself to a silent rhythm.

Will this be the month of miracles?

Or will mother nature extend another late season bloom?