Our yard breathes around her rosebush
hemmed in by leaves from red to rust
and from my own perch on the porch
I open my arms to release dolore
which lifts and meshes with the movement
of trees shivering though their crowns
laying bare nests made there by a mourning dove pair
but who now rest with the massive red maple
whose arms hold blue jays and an assortment
of songbirds needing a brief pause
while passing through to the feeder
which is placed near witch hazel’s limbs
now draped in autumn flowers: a golden embroidery
threaded through branches that curve up toward the sky
set on a torso that leans in like a woman’s hips –
solid, offering solace of sorts – conforto, like a mother’s love.

Mary Anna Scenga Kruch, a career educator and writer, supervises student teachers and leads a monthly writing group. Her publications include We Draw Breath from the Same Sky (2019) and Grace Notes: A Memoir in Poetry & Prose (2021). Recent poetry appears in Ovunque Siamo, Qua Literary & Fine Arts Magazine, and Wayne Literary Review.