Poetry:  Sin of Omission

I am a dandelion sister.
A small voice.

She was crazy round the eyes at the picnic.
Others have looked this way.

Think of my father and feel lost.
Even in death he cheats me.

Walk to the Y under renovation
asbestos flagellates the air.

Autumn convened by the food we eat—
melons, pumpkin, corn on the cob.

How groceries are sold by attraction—
first you see and smell

tulips, carnations, roses,
hyacinths, azaleas, daisies

then cinnabar strawberries, piquant oranges,
bursting yellow grapefruit.

Overcast.
Sculpted, carved clouds roil.

Lightning straddles the sky.
Worry until you can’t worry anymore.

Is poetry only the sin of omission?
Then, it is time I stopped writing about you.