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By T. Clear

The zinnias are at their peak

and in love with the sun,


roots suffused in fish emulsion

so that one last fiery flush


may burst skyward

before October lets loose


its atmospheric rivers.

So much of life is spent


making things grow:

children, marriages, potted plants;


yet my own late-summer self

has used up every blossom.


Not much left to conjure

with chemical potions;


no blond balayage, no botulinum 

needled into frown lines.


Best I gather seeds in autumn

knowing the end is inevitable;


knowing how lucky I’ll be

to fool it come spring.


T. Clear is a founder of Floating Bridge Press and an EasySpeak Seattle facilitator. She has been writing and publishing since the late 1970’s, and her work has appeared in many magazines and anthologies, including Poetry Northwest, The Rise-Up Review, Red Earth Review,, The Moth, Common Ground Review, Crannog, The American Journal of Poetry, Verse Daily and Take a Stand: Art Against Hate. Her book, A House, Undone, is the 2021 winner of the Sally Albiso Award from MoonPath Press. She is an Associate Editor at Bracken Magazine.

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