After the Rain

by Penelope Barnes Thompson

I look out on my patio after a soft rain.
The birds won’t stop singing.
The geraniums are an impossible pink.
I want to swallow them, whole.

Every flower has a shine,
like a woman who has just been loved.
Her body glistens. She struts when she walks,
has time to be generous,
to spread that glow around a little.

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