I Would Have Said to My Mother This Spring

by RHONY BHOPLA

All morning, I pleased myself by watching crane flies and gnats die in cobwebs.
The soft, sticky traps turn into wispy ropes. In the corner, two wasps
are motionless. Their wings fold as they hang from their paper nests.
The gray domes have hexagonal holes filled with eggs. Across the yard,
oily mint has grown between the roses. The marigolds did not survive
the winter, but I planted geraniums. Mint sweetens the air when I till
the soil. Would you like a cup of tea? 
Thank you. I love you.

Like wasps, damselflies
fold their wings. All morning, things
are born, live and die.

My Mother Said to Me Last Spring

by RHONY BHOPLA

All morning, I have been listening to the cooing of a mourning dove. Let’s go sit
in the sunshine. Look at how the shadows shift as it gets warmer. Slow down.
Later, if you have free time, sweep the wall so that the webs are all gone. That way the
gnats and crane flies will not get caught. It is sad when crane flies die
in webs because they only live for one day. That is what life is. We are not going to be
here forever. You will feel good if you save a crane fly’s life. Do you see the sun shining
on the cacti? I like the way the needles make a diagonal pattern. The cactus is flowering
peach and yellow blooms. Did you see any mint? I’ll get the water started while you get
the mint. Please pick the smallest leaves.
Thank you. I love you.

Rose hips, ginger root,
and mint are salves. All morning,
I mother myself.