Three white trilliums, more than ever before,
with plush, wave-edged petals: what’s not to adore?
Despair! Two white trilliums, mere two blooms left.
What bastard bit? Irreplaceably bereft.
Furious research. Locate some savvy source.
What eats trilliums without feeling remorse?
No web clue if fuzzy hop or fleeting wing.
A squirrel, wise daughter avers, pegging the thing.
My fantasies fly—I can’t strike the cad dead.
A lothario rodent, needing bed cred,
he places my gem, gently, over her ear.
Charmed, she consents. For my loss, nary a sneer.
Published:
Seeding the Snow Spring-Summer 2012
A Journal of Women’s Writing and Artwork Celebrating the Midwestern Landscape
