Gaia’s advice implored picking wisely

I.
Sometimes there were figs in his hands. But no flowers.
The only thing I expect flowers from are seeds.

II.
Ceramics class in the city: many of the girls would throw their clay into slenderly curved vases.
Curiosity: I asked one of them Why.
          To put flowers in of course.
But not a pot to grow them for a whole season?
          Blinking;
You’ve never been given flowers?
Just once, just sixteen, just hung them on the wall after they started to die to keep a little longer.
Poor things.
          That’s silly.
Not as silly as making a vase and expecting flowers.
She raised her eyebrows and resumed picking a glaze. 

III.
Sometimes there were figs in his hands. But no flowers.

Figs–
whispered promises
warming with earthy opulence
waken the blood, borne vitality of trees–
Figs are meant to be picked. 

Flowers–
the godly imagination of the ground
yanked into breathlessness
into a bundle of thoughtless, hasty kisses–
Flowers are not meant to be picked. 

IV.
Sometimes there were figs in his hands. But no flowers.
Wishing just once would I turn to the sacrificial sight of a wild daisy dying brightly. 

Advertisements

Leave a Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s