I sit in semi-shade on the rain-worn
park bench near Canon Grill, the Arkansas
Times turned to Saban’s story of greed-torn
historic homes and churches in freefall
throughout Helena’s fragile neighborhoods.
Bradford pear trees above me surrender
to breeze, small white petals forming a flood
of pale confetti, swirling like winter
blizzard seen just last week in Manhattan.
One petal sticks to my hairy forearm.
Another settles on my folded hand.
Who could plan sharing such natural charms
as these, lying softly, curled like small shells,
then lifting away in wind’s sudden swell?
Roger Armbrust
March 22, 2007
