Amanda McDowell

Bluebell Sweetness

I found a patch of bluebells in the branches

tucked among old dead twisted things

tufts of worn out grass

that hadn’t seen green since September

I didn’t expect them like I never expected you

popping up among brambles

to bloom before winter had given permission

for any kind of growth

I wanted to tell you so badly

and if desire pushed thoughts into other hearts

you would know before I did

If desire pushed thoughts into other hearts

you would know my every waking notion

on constant transmission

each mundane detail of each unremarkable day

It has been two years, three months, four days

and however many hours have passed in this Sunday

since we spoke

and now you take care of a baby that isn’t mine

that has your eyes and her hair

and is vastly less superior

than the shocking bluebell sweetness

that ours would have been

Amanda McDowell is a life-long lover of all things literature, and a relative newcomer to poetry. She has just finished her second 30/30 and is working on a world record for highest library fines. She gets up in the morning (ideally after 10 am) for things involving cheese, chocolate, whiskey, the promise of a nap, and Copernicus, her much-too-intelligent cat.