A Garden View For Ernestine
At rest on a bench I note
Pearl clouds skimming the sky’s placid surface at a
Mesmerizing pace; it is the high winds.
Japanese maples, calla lilies, ferns suffuse
This place. Redwoods relinquish their damp
Umber bark when they choose.
Many cypresses today beseeched the rain
And in turn received an early morning stream
Phosphorescent like the fluid gushing from
Between the legs of one of Klimt’s ladies.
All cradle their own arms and swath themselves in shawls.
Why is no one paying mind to the gardenias?
There they sway in repose,
Grandmother’s front porch overflowed with their
Delicate bounty, which so quickly browns
We did not mind, for we are brown people
And browner ‘neath the sun.
Today the wind rises and rushes in dialogue
With anonymous and intermittent birdsong.
All green things ruffle like presumptuous peacocks,
While gardenias patiently listen to secrets and would
Never divulge, like rosary beads.
I think of you.