Woman of Flowers

As the weather shifts
from chill to warm, her toes, too,
shade from violet to gold,

as if they were smeared
with yellow dandelion dust
while she walks. Grass tips

bend with memory.
The tulips nod consent
at her dimpled knees,

while bleeding hearts bow
and columbine duck their heads
in awkward silence.

Poppies bud and swell,
clinging, colored and saucy.
“Fine wench,” they whisper,

and wink. Her fingers
trail catkins, swift, sure, tickling;
there and gone again.

Over branches, twigs,
leaf buds are a thin bright veil ā€”
so sheer a cover,

as if night opens,
flirting. Then with a weight
far beyond flowering,

branches shift slowly,
as if they ache, letting down
blooms heavy as milk.

Petals freckle earth.
Too early for sunflowers.
They will come, they come.

* * *

May 1-3, 2009


2 responses to “Woman of Flowers

  1. You do good work.

  2. Thank you. šŸ™‚ You do, also.

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