Caroline Johnson 

Seasons of Love

 

Each night I gaze at the mirror
and wait for my family
to accept me.

I see a face like yours.
Another day, a vase full of blue roses.
You make our bed
and crystal rain falls.

I hear echoes from strangers,
who insist:
God made Adam and Eve.
He didn't make Adam and Steve.

When it's summer
you make lemonade.

When it's fall
we rake leaves.

When it's winter
I build a fire.

What does it matter
who or what we love?
Your face is still
a lantern, a firefly, a marigold.

When it's spring we sit outside on the porch,
I read Paradise Lost and we speak
a foreign tongue.
You reach across
to touch my hair.

Previously published in the anthology Distilled Lives.

 

 

Caroline Johnson has two poetry chapbooks, and has published poetry in Lunch Ticket, Uproot, Chicago Tribune, Kind of a Hurricane Press, and others.  A Pushcart Prize nominee, she won 1st place in the Chicago Tribune’s Printers Row 2012 Poetry Contest. She teaches community college English in the Chicago area.