FLOWER SHOWER
“Out of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best.” - William Shakespeare

The morning I walked in, saw you sitting at a table, tiny in the chair
maybe six-years-old
roses in my hand for our meditation, intention to do something rooted, special
to make you feel special
because flowers don’t grow here.

“Wanna play a game,” I ask?
“Have you ever played flower shower,” I exclaim!
“Whaaaaaaaaaaat,” you giggle.
“Let me show you,” I smile.
You squeeeeeeeel!

This game is full of wishes in petals and petals of wishes
with our wonder and will, with the dozen I brought
peel petal place wish, peel petal place wish, into our basket they fall
one, two, three, four
silken soft tissues of hope.

You stand in the middle of this musty, dusty-cornered, dank room as I sing, “Twirl, twirl flower girl!”
whirling around, making me dizzy, your eyes closed, me by your side dropping petals from above
falling all over you, around you, beside you, below you
stuck in your hair, on your shoulders, on top of your two-sizes too big slippers
everywhere you smell of sweetness.


Fresh, clean and free in your shower of flowers
gone, rank stink of judgement
I whisper, “Put these in your pocket.”
You delicately place petals one by one by one until all your pockets are full
Inhale possibility.

Later that day, I walk out of St. Francis, front door
see you across the street, crouched on the curb hiding under your mom’s arm
you notice me, hop up
reach into your right front pocket and gently pull petals
your smile lights Hope Street.

This poem was written over ten years ago
I never saw this little girl or her mother again after that day
I often wonder about her, send her love
I could have been that girl but I was adopted by two loving hearts, placed roses on my table
I hope she thinks of me and forever remembers that day we shared our flower shower.

Poet: Linda Lee Adams

Thundersnow

After the clearing of a hazy clementine sunset,

a cascade of snowflakes surprised a frozen early morning.

Layering a white afghan over the barren earth,

the snowfall reminded me of my mother’s plum cake,

when she sprinkled vanilla ice sugar.

I listened …

the whispers of snow were hushes playing a soft melody of kind disciples;

each one unique, each one gifted.

As the snow danced and dangled

above the eaves of a slanted roof,

its pure glaze shimmered

beneath the street lamp.

A miracle began with a brave ascension,

like a shining Orion in the sky.

Nothing was broken or hurting or needed mending.

My body felt the beauty of peace,

while the world was spinning.

Then a cacophony of rumbling

thunder boomed three times.

I thought machines were plowing,

but life remained innocent.

A concurrent color of neon blue light

beamed through a corridor of space.

I believed I was dreaming.

I witnessed a natural phenomenon;

electrically charged ice crystals escaping from cloud lightning.

During this transcendence,

I also experienced my own

fluorescent constellation of freedom.

Freedom to welcome my divergent mind with all the luminous colors, the shyness and sensitivities,

electrical impulses of music;

and the blooming of a million thundersnow moments.

Poet: C. S.

Weather, I stay inside now

My friends, they all ask me how?

I try to make them see

That the weather, it scares me

Rain, it’s in my eyes

And for some reason

It makes me want to cry

But instead I just ask why?

I’m screaming at nothing but the sky

And I think it’s time I go back inside

But deep down I know, I cannot hide

Cold, they said I would be fine!

That is what I was told

But I just feel cold

I just wanted to stay warm

But I think I'm learning

That I cannot control the storm

Wind, it's making me stumble off my

path.

The wind pushes me back, and I think of the aftermath

Strenuous steps make me ponder the fall.

That is why, I don't go outside at all

For don't think I can take another fall

Maybe, I'll find my way to the sun

Maybe, I'll try to run

Maybe, I wouldn't be here if I didn't fall

Or maybe, this is the weather inside us all.

January 2026 Poetry Contest Winners

Catherine Schwind & Linda Lee Adams