Andrea Eldridge

Lily

On all sides of her home, they soaked up
the sun from every angle. “Lots of water”
her sole instruction. Nary a note on
where to plant. No, pips under pines or
beside running water. “They’re easy to grow.”

From May Day to the last day
birthday on the thirty-first
birth flower by a nose.
A dear friend of few words
she showed ’em in the end.

Tinkling white bells
remind me of the ringmaster
all tux and tails in the circus spotlight.
Or shaft of light that found its way
through the forest canopy, creekside.

the scent
of fairy perfume—
in the valley

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About the Author

Andrea Eldridge is a retired airline pilot living in Idaho, where she’s finally able to enjoy the temperature changes (minus flight delays and cancellations). Her poems “Unexpected” and “Psychedelic” have been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and anthologized in Contemporary Haibun 17, respectively. Her story about flight training in Tokyo, “Strange Birds,” won a Solas Award for Best Travel Writing.