Finish your works on hand.  Don’t
be greedy.



I shall heed your blunt edged words.
They hurt a little, but strike home true
scraping out the rot.
Sometimes a sword is needed
to put things in order,
to slash through
delicate tendrils
extending their lace
into my field of vision.

Sheath the abstract thoughts
skipping laser beams
thing to thing
and try instead
flower to flower
in the garden you have already begun.

Letting go,
I suddenly hold
the entire meadow
in a warm and summery
mural embrace.


Fortune Cookie Poems Copyright © 2022 by Stephanie Mirocha. All Rights Reserved.