Beth Camp Historical Fiction

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

"P" is for Poinsetta

I woke up thinking of poinsettas,
those rich red leaf-like flowers
heart-ease in winter.
April's still too cold for blossoms
on the cherry tree outside my window.
Even the starlings and an occasional robin
circle, perch on a bony branch tight with buds,
and take off. Perhaps they wonder when the fruit will arrive,
rather like that noisy raven I spotted this morning,
his feathers ruffled as he lamented this late spring.
I content myself with red and pink hothouse tulips,
dreaming of cactus blooms far to the south,
where the Pyrrhuloxia rests on cactus,
warmed by the sun.
Pyrrhuloxia near Tucson (Camp 2010)