Elegy Composed in the New York Botanical Garden
Catmint—tubular, lavender, an ointment
to blur the scar, bloom the skin. My mouth has begun
the hunt for words that heal.
In the garden, I am startled by a cluster
of sun-colored petals marked, Radiation.
Piles of radiation. Orange radiation, huddled together
like families bound by a hospital-bright morning.
And behind them: a force of yuccas
called Golden Swords. A bush or mound
of sheath-like leaves sprouting from a proud center.
And isn’t that the plot?
First the radiation, then the golden sword.
I remember, incurably,
your mother. The laughter that flowered
from her lips. I’m sorry I have no good words
to honor her war. It crumbled me to watch you
overwhelmed by her face
in the daffodils outside your childhood home.
|Aug 23, 2014||Canticle||William Griffith|
|Aug 22, 2014||Congregation||Parneshia Jones|
|Aug 21, 2014||from "We Do the Polis"||David Buuck|
|Aug 20, 2014||Lithuania||Phillis Levin|
|Aug 19, 2014||Ode to Country Music||Sandra Simonds|
|Aug 18, 2014||Mr. Darcy||Victoria Chang|
|Aug 17, 2014||Hours||Hazel Hall|
|Aug 16, 2014||Dancing Adairs||Conrad Aiken|
|Aug 15, 2014||Snowy Owl Goddess||Diane Wakoski|
|Aug 14, 2014||Rapture: Lucus||Traci Brimhall|