All Season Blues with Red Pepper

Before the sweet fruit
the flower.

Before the corn
the silk. Though

popcorn must have salt
if it is to be eaten for pleasure.

Before all
the winter. Yet

she always said to take everything with a grain of love
but now she’s so salty and sad with winter blues
and I say when I bump into her
you are as sweet as nectar, but she
buzzes, looking for the lost flower
and the snow overcomes her
in the winter-cold blues, or is it
all-season blues; I don’t know:

haven’t seen her since
the hush of the minor catastrophe
though I suppose that the

minor is always major
with a little transposition
of position and starting point.

Oh no, how can this be
that the Goddess of Silver Linings
is in a sorrowful cloud, when
I love puffy-fluffy things, and
she has a talisman, a stuffed animal,
that she has given my name to, and
I have her last letter to read
again and again to warm me until

our summer comes, we harvest, we love the day
make stuffed green peppers at home, and
without doubt

even in a panic picnic out
we laugh because
catastrophe seems so silly
when love is abundant
especially for us, and I wonder

how could it be that she would wander
searching for exotic red flowers in the highlands
be hushed by minor catastrophes in lowlands when

oh yes, I am puffy with love clouded
in her thoughts I know, and
if she calls I will come with
medicinal bouquets of me
herbs and stuffed red peppers,
salty corn puffed up like
pop love flowers
and the succulent fruits that follow
    Books by Douglas Gilbert
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