by Jan Wiezorek
We see more than green and less
than canopies. Her daughter
suggested a green garden.
We only require what’s dotted,
twisting, vibrant. No more than green,
less that canopies: these loop back upon us.
The sign at the cottage says, “Take no photos
during June, July, or August because
time stops here.” Even so,
we recreate it in self-portraits.
On the sign, she wrestles with two men,
decorative and enameled. Sound changes
them every day, moving
their fear to leaves, ignoring dirt
inside a home. We are not the first
and not alone. Settle down
to surrender. After a while,
that circles back
and pins our joints—
vine to trellis.
Jan Wiezorek writes from Barron Lake in Michigan. He has taught writing at St. Augustine College, Chicago, and his poetry has appeared or is forthcoming at The London Magazine, Yes Poetry, L’Ephemere Review, Words Dance, THAT Literary Review, and others. Jan is author of Awesome Art Projects That Spark Super Writing (Scholastic, 2011). He also writes about unsung heroes for The Paper in Buchanan, Michigan, and did so formerly as a freelancer for the Chicago Tribune. Jan holds a Master’s Degree in English Composition/Writing from Northeastern Illinois University, Chicago.