A Year Turned Upside Down Almost all of fall evaporated in a flurry of sun. Mayweed’s stars immobilized by an embarrassment of heat. Come January, gardenias shot into scent, clivia burst into a conflagration of orange. With winter annihilated, spring spiraled into the disingenuous sugar of summer, sage withered, chaparral seethed in a flash of flame.
About the Author: Ruth Bavetta’s poems have appeared in North American Review, Nimrod, Rattle, Slant, American Journal of Poetry, and many other journals and anthologies. She likes the light on November afternoons, the music of Stravinsky, the smell of the ocean. She hates pretense, fundamentalism and sauerkraut.
Image Credit: Chase Dimock “California Mayweed” (2022)