Today's poem is by William Wenthe

Parked Beneath a Pear Tree

When I drove away,
the petals that had dropped
into the bed of my pickup
were picked up
in the wind curling
behind the cab. Lofted
in the wind-eddy, petals
whirling above side panels
fluttered in circles
but would not disperse,
so that for miles, all the way
to the clinic, I'm hauling
a small tornado.

I cannot say
why this drove me
to a flurry of joy,
any more than I have
wisdom to tell you
why a kind of brooding,
overcast weather has chosen
to settle over your body.
I can only listen, and attend,
and today, at least, offer
this telling—not much, if not
nothing: of small substance,
partial, slight, and blown.

Copyright © 2006 William Wenthe All rights reserved
from The Greensboro Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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