Esme
By Wayne Lee
January 15, 2023
January 15, 2023
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The branches of the pear tree are studded
with plump, white buds, even as some of last year’s crop still hang like sleeping bats. Yesterday we scattered her grandma’s ashes in the outbound tide; today Esme plays with her blocks, builds a wall, knocks it down. Each of us is born one loss at a time. |
Wayne Lee (wayneleepoet.com) lives in Santa Fe, NM. Lee’s poems have appeared in Pontoon, Slipstream, The New Guard, The Lowestoft Chronicle and other journals and anthologies. He was awarded the 2012 Fischer Prize and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and three Best of the Net Awards. His collection The Underside of Light was a finalist for the 2014 New Mexico/Arizona Book Award. He is currently working on a full-length collection called Dining on Salt: Four Seasons of Septets and a memoir, Service Husband: A Caregiver’s Journey Through Disability, Suicide & Recovery.