2 poems

by Wendy Freborg

bermuda buttercups 

Bermuda buttercups have taken root

among my gardenias. 

They are weeds but they are so yellow,

I find them bright and welcome in February.

Valuing their yellowness, 

ignoring the garden book’s instructions,

I let them grow.

I am generous, benignly tolerant,

arrogantly neglecting

to ask the gardenias their opinion.

measuring my life in pills

I sometimes measure my life in pills, 

watching my days elapse

a  dose at a time, three times a day. 

Sunday

Monday

Tuesday

Wednesday

Pill case half empty

Thursday

Friday

Saturday

another week gone.

Another week closer to …

don’t say it

If my stock of days is dwindling,

let me mark their passage 

in things accomplished

time with the ones I love,

hours with children

poetry written

humor appreciated

letters to friends

books I’ve read

If my time is running out,

on Saturday, when the pill case is empty,

let me refill it and say, 

“Here’s to another week.”

Wendy Freborg is a retired social worker whose work has appeared in Rat’s Ass Review, Right Hand Pointing, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Misfit, and WestWard Quarterly. Her life includes one husband, one son, two grandchildren, enough friends, too many doctors and not enough dogs. Her pleasures are her family, crossword puzzles, learning new things, and remembering old times.