Amy Bengtson Poems

Children of Palm Sunday

What sweet faces, the children waving branches!
We honor their clumsy parade.
...

In the hospital, a mother cries feebly, dreamless.
The son holding his mother for the last time
Joins the hymn.
The refrain tastes like aspirin
...

I am no artist, but
In a frame on my wall,
In blue paint with smeary edges,
Are your tiny hand prints
...

Spring isn't yet.
Only one robin has been seen
Boldly claiming his old perch.
Winter is over.
...

I will love you if.
I will give to you if.
I will honor you if.
I will kiss you if.
...

It was not good for the tree
Whose only guilt was to grow tall,
To grow strong, To grow straight.
...