Tag: Monarch

The First Monarch

Poetry by Katy Z. Allen

I caught a glimpse today of hope—
the first monarch of the summer
flitted past the window,
catching my eye with its bright orange wings.

A striking orange is on display as well in the wood lilies,
whose blooming each year reminds me of my Aunt Lorraine,
a crusty New England Yankee
who always knew what was what,
accepted me without question
no matter what was changing in my life,
and who so many years ago gave me bulbs from her garden.

Today, I stumbled on a picture of her that I didn’t remember,
sitting in her New Hampshire summer garden,
and another of her with my two sons,
smiling and laughing,
when they were much younger.

My Aunt Lorraine never gave up,
never gave in
and always kept her chin up,
and thoughts of her
remind me of the butterfly
and hope.


Katy Z. Allen is a lover of the more-than-human world. She founded and led an outdoor congregation and a Jewish climate organization. Her poetry has appeared in online publications and her poetic book, A Tree of Life: A Story in Word, Image, and Text was published by Strong Voices Publishing.

Queen Elizabeth II died while I was mowing the lawn

Poetry by Joshua Zeitler

I had let it grow longer than I should, and was thinking about how
               I had let it grow longer than I should. Weeks, maybe months, of growth.
     The mower was having a tough time of it. I had to keep backing up

               and pushing forward. One of the wild plants I’d never noticed before
had fruit that looked like little green paper lanterns, a groundcherry.
     I had decided to steer around it when the mower choked out. I tried to start it

     back up again but it just billowed smoke, and then chugged along
               billowing smoke. I couldn’t breathe. I was gasping for air, and besides,
I wanted to give the groundcherries a chance to grow, and the other

     plants I would have loved if I’d given them time: the goldenrod, the Queen
Anne’s lace, chicory—yes, even the thistle—have you ever seen
               how beautifully the bull thistle blooms? I’ve always dug it out before

     it could truly flower. Call it pragmatism, or fear, those formidable
needles. I’m changing my mind. I’ll let it grow. Maybe
               I won’t even fix the mower, which doesn’t really look broken,

               it just looks like it always does when I’m not using it—slim, and quiet,
and polite in its stillness, which might now last forever. Not laziness, I insist
     to myself as I head inside, but a kind of mercy, of grace—and then

                                                       I see.


Joshua Zeitler is a queer, nonbinary writer hailing from the heart of Michigan. They are pursuing an MFA in poetry at Alma College, and their poems have been previously published in Black Fox Literary Magazine.

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