What’s mine is mine forevermore
I cannot prove to you the beauty
of my days. I did not photograph
the whiteness of the goatsmilk
or the child of my friends
standing in the doorway
of the barn clutching at the neck
of a giant teddy bear.
I can only tell you all the flowers
that I gathered up this Sunday:
daisies and the buttercups;
asters and the rest. They stand
in crooked dignity
in a jar I’ve used for applesauce
and salad dressing. They haven’t told
me that they’re interested in being
known, and so I keep them
to myself, a self so very
skilled at keeping.
panache, perhaps 
Fabulous! I once rode my bicycle a long long long way all across the country and more. I did not take one singe picture. But the creations inspired – the poems! and the art! – were, and are, treasured along with my memories.
Beautiful! I love this one.
Jonathan F. Katz
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Such a lovely poem, Taylor. It makes me think of all the times I’ve wished I were a painter like my Dad, but merely have words instead. But this poem makes me glad that you have words.
PS: This is Jeff, from Cutler and Marilyn’s wedding.
Thank you for this wonderful response to the poem! What a weekend…