Once we gardenias flaunted deep-green leaves
with bursts of pristine-white buds
stippled all around.
Now we are but spindly sticks,
tremoring as we, still hopeful, reach for life
from the gray-light sky and butter-soft sun.
We once held such promise,
but that promise cannot be kept.
Our reach is futile;
our days are marked and counted.
We won’t last
to be resurrected next spring.
No matter how hard our straggling stems
bend and break while we stretch and reach
for sun and sky, seeking a rebirth,
none will come.
Our sultry aroma is lost forever.
Life is undone.
The world spins on.
About the Poet
Cynthia Pitman has been published in Ariel Chart, Vita Brevis Press, Pain and Renewal Anthology, Third Wednesday (One Sentence Poem Contest finalist), Saw Palm (Pushcart Prize nominee, 2019), Amethyst Review, ArielChart,Adelaide Review, Right Hand Pointing, Red Fez (Story of the Week), and others. Her poetry collection, The White Room, was published by Kelsay Books in May of 2020.