THEY SAY TIME IS GOLDEN - Rochelle Jewel Shapiro

Autumn’s russet / gold crunches

beneath my soles, the golden flowers

of goldenrod and golden balls of ragweed

that make me sneeze and force me

to moil in an allergist’s office

will be buried beneath a coat of snow.

I will miss this season when it passes.

Soon, through the sparkling hoar of my window,

I’ll see the breath puffs of passersby,

and know that winter will give way

to Wordsworth’s host of golden daffodils.

Now golden pollen dust drifts onto freshly-washed cars.

I watch for shade-loving trillium, white, three-winged,

and their golden centers of six stamens where bees settle

and flutter off, buzzy and boozy.

These days, snowstorms come after crocuses

have already powered up through winter-hard earth.

Summer and fall, wildfires send smoky clouds

from far-off shores strip plants of chlorophyll,

stunting, and de-greening the Earth.

In acid rain, I wander, lonely.

---

 Rochelle Jewel Shapiro has published in the in the NYT (Lives). She has been nominated twice for a Pushcart Prize and twice for Best of the Net.