Bluebells
(for Greta)
(for Greta)
by Amy Genova
Every
April someone suggests 24
Let’s
meet on the 24th…
My
frontal lobes thicken
Bulb
with 2 and 4
before
I remember why
Your
birthday, April 24th
Today,
I walk through woods
masked
in bluebells
No
one planted them
They
roll out by the hundreds
an
undulating comet tail
I
bend, stroke my hand
through
their buds—
The
brevity of bells
break
over the forest floor
Twilight
drizzled down and shattered
in
blossoms
a
mad clarity against lead sky
A
singular tune—bluebells
low
to ground
to
grave
For
an instant
I
roll in their wave
Their
delicate tongue
1000
songs—or maybe 24
Amy Genova has been published in a number of journals: The Bad Shoe, 3Elements, R.E.A.L., Spry, etc. She also won the 2015 James Nash prize. She has strong ties to Indiana, having lived there and raised her family from 2000-2010. She now lives in Olympia, Washington, with her husband, dog and garden an hour and a half from her daughter and granddaughter. “Olympia is a beautiful place of rainbows, mountain, sea and forests. Also, broken hearts.”
Amy Genova has been published in a number of journals: The Bad Shoe, 3Elements, R.E.A.L., Spry, etc. She also won the 2015 James Nash prize. She has strong ties to Indiana, having lived there and raised her family from 2000-2010. She now lives in Olympia, Washington, with her husband, dog and garden an hour and a half from her daughter and granddaughter. “Olympia is a beautiful place of rainbows, mountain, sea and forests. Also, broken hearts.”