The flowers I haven’t planted,, wistful ghosts,
beckon me from my desk, promise me color--
too absent from the blank page that gloats,
one-eyed. Sometimes a malignant host
of don’ts crowd my vision, a like dolor--
the flowers I haven’t planted, wistful ghosts
of the creatures that come too hostile
to do my bidding. Perhaps the odor
too absent from the blank page that gloats
is what lures me to the garden bed, lost
hours digging in the loam, bent-shouldered.
The flowers I haven’t planted, wistful ghosts,
are crowding against the ones I purchased
to see me through the drought of despair.
Too absent from the blank page that gloats.
I take my tools into morning’s toil
dig deep to find the damp, fertile earth
too absent from the blank page that gloats
the flowers I haven’t planted, wistful ghosts.
Ghosts
Karen Bingham Pape is a teacher and writer. Her poems have appeared in small press publications such as Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review and Maverick Press and in on-line journals such as Words-Myth and Perigee. She has read her work at conferences such as Southwestern ACA/PCA Pop Culture, ASU Annual Writers Conferences in Honor of Elmer Kelton, and Fort Concho Literary Festival.