Ode to my Mistress

Apr 18

Is it because
I swoon in your leaves
Feast on your velvet
And steep in your splendor
Like a vernal thief

Or that time and again
I rear you from birth
Only to cut your life short

Let me believe
That my act of grace
Brings no pain
To the one I adore

That spring
Caresses us both
So I can lose myself in you
My gaze, stealing you too

Let me believe
You know
That for each petal dropped
A thousand silent poems were written

That a radiant sun
Bows in deference
To the ethereal lifetime
My embrace helped you carve

Let me believe
That the vase I procured for your recital
Triggered the relentless bloom
Announcing your arrival

That each rose to follow
Will nevermore fear
The wilt of tomorrow

That they’ll dream
Of the sonnets I sang
At your birth
At your peak
At your end

Grant me permission
Companion and muse
To love them, house them
And yes, even cut them

For then —and only then
Might I dare reappear
Knowing that you too relished
The sight of my shears

I find joy in a lovely home, a kind soul, mementos from days gone by…and flowers. At any point in time, my home could double as a florist. Every now and then you might find a professional arrangement, but for the most part I have delighted over the years in the weekly exercise of arranging flowers, many of which I procure from our garden. When living in San Francisco gardenless, my weekly jaunts to the flower mart were magical, so much so that one of the vendors joked: “There she is, the kid in her candy store!” My daughter joined me on these escapades from time to time on roller skates. These are my candy floss moments, and yet I often feel guilty about cutting flowers. As I type, some are still going strong since making our home theirs nine days ago —I’d like to think it is because they cherish living in it.