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      September 5, 2017Vacation’s EndWendy Breuer

      Already the shasta daisies look
      like Catholic schoolgirls after recess,
      the starch gone out of their skirts.
      Blanket flowers and coreopsis hang,
      heads heavy, hungover with seeds,
      and Bermuda grass has crowded back
      into every crevice. In June,
      stalks of lilies and foxgloves
      stretched and lengthened, buds
      ready to let loose
      but now they’re opened
      and spent in the dry heat
      of August, a part of summer,
      but truly a separate season—
      the season of panic,
      of ornamental shrubbery
      past pruning, past order,
      overrun by returning chaparral,
      depleted by drought,
      your carefully constructed landscape
      almost lost, like your parents
      who’ve grown too old
      and your children
      who’ve scattered.

      from #19 - Summer 2003

      Wendy Breuer

      “In my poetry, I seek unexpected conjunctions and disjunctions found in everyday life, the confusions of being many things to many people: someone’s parent, someone else’s child, lover, nurse, wife, friend, caught between now and the past. Somehow, poem by poem, I begin to untangle all these knotted strands.”

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