The Gertrude Munzenmaier Prize

Frances J. Pearce



Vines cleave to trellis. Seedpods bulge.
A mockingbird serenades the world from its hide
among susanquas and here I am waiting
for a moonflower to unfold,
its bud first made long, now ready to explode.

I waited, watched the shy made bold,
the flare as blossom instantly woke.
Oh, fragrant night.
In the quiet of morning, petals pulled inward,
became a specter, crumpled, fell away.