Apple Blossoms

Sitting down to morning meditation
I am shocked into the secret scent of apple blossoms,
out of no where wanting the soft petals to fall on my face
small, sweet first kisses of a Minnesota May in 1975
where I could hide from the rain
and marvel at robins and the color of red they carry,
the ground cool and mossy
a green cushion for a girl’s tender feet
just coming out of the depths of snow
and cold of another long winter.

This longing makes me want to find you
and place my own arches into your hands,
ask you to bathe me in warm water,
a child needing to be looked lovingly in the eye,
a woman surrendering to the intimate comfort
of a lover long gone from her arms,
the warm breath of spring on his lips
before he kisses deeply,
manages to wake the coming winter
from this frail body.

Paint my tiny shell toes the pink of petals with a brush that brings back summer.
My heart is so ready to love something simple
like this cool rain and the sun trying to come out of the clouds.
My back will sink into the warm of grasses
knees closer to God and the sky
as I look into your eyes and say nothing.
I promise only to smile a wide Midwestern smile
and laugh as loud and long as my breath will take me
toward stars and sunsets rich with forever.