Twilight in June: A Corrie Poem

I walk in the twilight

in June—a time when 

kids find love easy along

with the Internet and 

cigarettes. I walk around

the century plus ten 

years house to see if 

my mother-in-law’s 

Tiger Lilies are in bloom.

A single blossom out

of three opens on the

stem. I think of you. 

Corrie’s dog cries as 

puppies do when the

attention is never 

enough. “I feel the same

way Rosie when I hear

you cry,” I say. Think of

Corrie. Think of Jack. 

Make wishes without

candles on a cake, and

I’m at an age where I 

understand most dreams

don’t come true.

But I still wish for Corrie

to pick the Tiger Lily, 

and for me 

to say, “Why did you

you pick your 

Grandmother’s

Tiger Lilies?”

“They’re so pretty,” she

replies. “I picked them 

                                     for you.” 

I walk in the twilight

in June—a time when 

kids find love easy along

with the Internet and 

cigarettes. I walk around

the century plus ten 

years house to see if 

I still hear … you.