Carolyn Lehman

In my garden buds go limp before they bloom– wishful thinking on a tired stalk. My hose snakes out but we can’t bring the real relief they crave. Down deep and dry the rich earth sleeps under a tightfisted sky. Carolyn Lehman

Your phone said rain Wear a raincoat, you said Mine said drizzle, I didn’t bother People in the Co-op parking lot pulled up their hoodies except for one man with a broken umbrella he held it over his head as he walked to his truck The trees, the streets, the crows called, Rain! We all […]

It begins with that delectable tongue wrapped around mine sweet embrace Rare to find one ripe enough at first patience is rewarded–and required– then they put to shame the cacophony of late autumn apples It’s almost enough to compensate for the loss of summer’s sweet corn Carolyn Lehman December 2020

My next door neighbor set three boxes out between the sidewalk and her lawn, boxes of apples from her backyard orchard, one of something like delicious one of a rosy-cheeked yellow kind — redolent of sweetness and of Fall — a third of tart, green keepers good for winter pies A man with a backpack […]

This morning I came down the stairs put water on to boil for tea opened the door to get the paper first breath of a new day and there at my feet sweet roses in a jam jar vase smiling up at me unmasked I asked the usual suspects “No, not me,” they said though […]

A chill a ululation one howl and then another like a wounded animal like a caged animal breaking free in voice calling out across the neighborhood lighting the city at dusk calling out to the fog to the Bottom to the hills Heartache, is it? but also, “I’m here” and “I hear you.” We are […]