Redbuds
A poem by Paula J. Lambert

Redbuds

On the way there, an enormous deer
lay on the side of the road, covered

in black vultures—one in Horaltic pose.
I’d read the text on my way to the car:

There’s been a decline. Sleeping a lot.
Thought I should warn you. I brace myself.

When I arrive, though, she’s freshly shorn:
a new haircut. Eyes bright, the frames

of her glasses enhanced by the color
of a new nubby-red sweater: Well, hello there!

I show her pictures of what’s blooming
in the yard, my granddaughter

in eclipse glasses over paper-plate mask.
We have a grand time. On the way home,

redbud trees—more than I’ve ever seen—
are blossoming on Riverside Drive.

The water, springtime-high, moves brusquely
along. The sky is a wide expanse of blue,

stirred by vultures aloft on lazy currents,
satiated for now and in no hurry.

About the Author:

Paula J. Lambert has published several collections of poetry including As If This Did Not Happen Every Day (Sheila-Na-Gig 2024) and Uncertainty (The Only Hope We Have) (Bottlecap 2023). Also a visual artist, small-press publisher, and literary translator, her work has been recognized by PEN America and supported by the Ohio Arts Council, Greater Columbus Arts Council, and Virginia Center for Creative Arts. She lives in Columbus, Ohio, with her husband Michael Perkins, a philosopher and technologist. More at www.paulajlambert.com.

Poetry Breakfast publishes a new poem every weekday morning.
If you’d like your poems considered for publication visit our Poetry Submissions page.

Follow Poetry Breakfast
Facebook