Late Bloom


Today’s prompt is to write a “How I’ll be remembered” poem.

How I’ll Be Remembered
by Beth Weaver-Kreider

Forget my tendency to pedantry,
the grammatical dogmas,
the adherence to form.

Remember the need for grace,
and the giving of it in return.

Remember the wildness, the laughter,
remember the deconstructed rules.

Remember the earnest Mennonite face, yes,
but hold also the image
of the wild creature on the hillside,
resisting capture in a closed box.

Remember the flakiness, too,
the tendency to butterfly
from one idea to the next,
and the ease with which delight arose.

Remember the fire of my rages,
and let them fuel your own workings.

Remember the flawed and the broken,
remember the one who walked
outside the walls of the City of Despair.

Remember the late bloom,
the long gestation.


Oak is supreme in late November. Maples and willows and sycamore and poplar have lost their leaves, while oak still holds its leathery leaves–golden, brown, burgundy, red–shining in the slant of November afternoon sun. In a few short week, oak will lose its kingly mien and holly will take the place of honor. Holly and pine. For now, oak draws my heart upward.


Gratitude List:
1. Chicken curry and injera leftovers for supper
2. Making progress–slow but steady
3. The ache of muscles after good, healthy, hard work
4. Such a variety of leaves! I think of us as poplar, maple, and sycamore here. I know there are some oaks, but when we rake leaves in autumn, I always find at least three different varieties. I need to walk the property more. Of course, we’re in the hollow, so anything higher on the ridge will eventually drift down to us.
5. Fire Cider/Dragon’s Breath/Rosemary Gladstar

May we walk in Health and Beauty!

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