“Nobody sees a flower, really…we haven’t time – and to see takes time,
like to have a friend takes time.”
— Georgia O’Keefe
I wasn’t looking for a friend,
here in this rich man’s private garden
thrown open to the masses for a few days,
and yet I found you.
Cousin to the sea of black irises
that grew behind the white clapboard
victorian era army house where I grew up,
the ones that swayed in the wind
like drunken sailors at a beach party.
Bolder than the fire dancers on Oahu,
hairy and loose-lipped like Elvis,
they all competed for attention.
How could anyone not see them?
I guess the same way
we don’t see friends
for years and years
until we run into them
at a garden party.
The number rattles around in my head like dried paint chips in an empty can.
Ideas roll into corners of my mind and wobble to a stop: rhyming colors! a cantina full of pajamas! a club for broken toys!
Orion rises at the end of my street during my evening dog walk leaving light pebbles on the window ledges that will be gone by morning.
Chunks of split cherry wood season in the wood pile beneath my deck. Some, like the best thoughts, are iron hard and ready for the fire. Others are full of sugar ant trails and are light as summer moss.
Posted in poetry