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.