Poetry by Julene Tripp Weaver

                 ​Alex Holyoake CC



Slow Growth

Bombarded by men who could sit hours on
a lake in a boat waiting for a fish to bite. 
Patience their virtue—we had few options. 

I was a girl in the country who had to save myself,
mother had hands like scissors and a mouth with no words. 
Hoping for the best, after we moved, I followed the dream-

rebellion—independence, I escaped into city parks, 
crushed pennies on railroad tracks. Nothing was right.
I said no to unwanted advances, forged a path.

My dreams grew and the clouds cleared—I had to get small 
before I could get big—dreams squashed too easy after Father
died, but there is something about moving on despite 

all odds against. Miracles live on the horizon—a tiny seed 
I could have discarded, but I held it in my dark center, it had to
germinate a long time, it was cheerless and mournful for years.

With no other option but to press forward, it finally bloomed
like an orchid that took forever, then stunned me with love.

​

Julene Tripp Weaver is a writer and psychotherapist in Seattle, Washington. She has been sheltering in place since March 2020 when the states started restrictions, and writing about the pandemic weekly. Author of a chapbook and two full size poetry books, she worked in AIDS services for twenty-one years. Her third collection, truth be bold—Serenading Life & Death in the Age of AIDS, was nominated for a Lambda Literary Award and won the Bisexual Poetry Award. Her book, No Father Can Save Her, is also an eBook. Find more of her writing at www.julenetrippweaver.com.

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