#thelanguageofflowers
Summertime on Broadway
in Spanish Harlem.
Wide sidewalks glinting
with mica, as I walked alone
up this hill in our neighborhood
for the very first time.
Flag Day, my parent's anniversary,
and a wish to give them flowers
I would buy all on my own.
Inside the hushed florist shop
the flowers and plants
seemed ready to interview
any potential new owners
who wished to take them home.
A dignified, kind woman,
spokesperson for their domain,
looked down at this earnest
little shrimp of a girl in a
striped T-shirt and shorts,
who wanted so much
to be taken seriously.
Respectfully, she opened heavy
glass doors where the roses slept
in orderly, long-stemmed rows.
Heady, chilled. Their fragrance
enveloped me, and still does.
I chose one red rose, and one yellow,
and the woman solemnly wrapped
them like a baby in swaddling clothes,
adding baby's breath and fern leaves.
Cradling my paper bundle, I walked on home.
Something deep inside of me had made that choice.
It felt as though the flowers knew what I wanted
to say to my cherished mother and father:
*That this life they were creating for us,
was abundantly full, and balanced.*
Time flew by, and one day I learned
from a holy and compassionate sage
that my heart had chosen an ancient
symbol for fullness of life:
Two flowers, one red,
one yellow, whispering
the secret of life
to the heart of a child
who wanted, more than anything,
to actually hear it,
who wanted to know,
above all else,
what was really real.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC
Striped carnation (refusal):
I have long since discovered that the fires
in me were never going away.
The heaviness, from refusal
to spit the ashes.
Queen Anne’s lace (fantasy):
I thought you put out the fire last night
but you weren’t there.
Willow herb (pretension):
How long have you been gone?
I told myself as many lies as I could handle
but none of them ever worked.
Scabiosa (unfortunate love):
We’ve built enough bridges to take us nowhere–
tell me again what we’ve become:
trembling hands,
trying not to spill blood on what was left.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC