Poetry by LeeAnn Pickrell

Image / Gioele Gatto

The Spring I Waited for the Dogwood to Bloom

Every day that spring

I watched 

Every morning

I walked out

my white robe trailing 

across the wooden boards

Splinters scratched 

the soles of my feet

My hands wrapped 

around a mug of coffee

steaming in the still cool air

I had come to the woods

to cocoon myself in green brush

and gray thunderclouds

as if in a room of my own

I could become

someone else deliberately

I waited 

for the lime-green blossoms to appear

the petals to unfold

toward the warming sun

The flowers faded to white

painting the forest 

in eyelet lace

When I emerged 

the dogwood blossoms had fallen

green leaves covered

the thin branches

I was only myself

yet softened by mornings 

I stood still enough

patient for once in my life

to see a dogwood tree bloom

First published in Jung Journal: Culture & Psyche, vol. 15, no. 2 (2021)

In the mail a spring morning

blossoms a new haiku 

tap tap of hammers as I meditate

crows skittering on the roof

crossing a suspension bridge

over a fast-running creek

walking the stations of a life

swimming hole

bench

waterfall

© LeeAnn Pickrell

LeeAnn Pickrell

LeeAnn Pickrell’s debut collection is Gathering the Pieces of Days from Unsolicited Press. Her chapbook, Punctuated, was published in 2024 by Bottlecap Press, and her book, Tsunami, is forthcoming in 2026 from Unsolicited Press. She lives in Richmond, California. See more at www.leeannpickrell.com.

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