Calling The Seasons
by Taylor Graham

    Memorial Day comes up in iris.

    Cedarville, Route 29, we drive
    these country roads reckless
    as late spring, and stop
    where folks sell iris cheap
    in extravagant colors – Redwing,
    Tollgate, Lavender Exchange –
    from fields like the ones
    our young dogs love to run.

    Triangle Crossroads, Hayfork
    Junction. We stuff the trunk
    with bags of hunched brown hope.
    Back home, tubers dig down
    to where we’ve planted
    the old dogs who used to come
    when bidden, and now,
    as if commanded, stay.






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