In your garden, getting lost
in lilac coneflowers, mingling
with the bees and hummers,
your grin another bloom.
 
I move out of the wilderness,
tall as a sunflower, turn to talk
to a stranger veiled with fear,
the pandemic always near.
 
I ache to see lipstick and balm,
teeth smooth, white, chipped,
stained, or even gapped,
a nose Roman or crooked.
 
I yearn for a bouquet of expression,
see smiles not hidden by cloth.
A native plant of spontaneous
laughter, growing in public soil.


This poem first appeared in Friends Journal.
Used here with permission.