Key Giver of Blooms
As drizzle pours into an hour and another
I glimpse through the wide hole of a skyscape...
Frame by frame, vignettes from adolescence emerge
Where Mother plants new seeds—nettle, dahlia, herb--
Our backyard almost evergreen despite rain,
Tending the aisle of growing shoots with care:
And I wonder...does my parent know I am watching
When her delicate face ripens amid gale’s blow?
All at once, keynotes of life trail like a strained note
Her bent hands tilting up, pained, to taste the dew:
O those eyes dotted in Braille...weary, impaired
By sun-struck years overrun through ceaseless toil
In our garden’s lawn, paddling the holes
On marshy rails with interludes of blissful tunes,
Unmindful a visual sense wanes, stripping
An impassioned ritual to be left unsung:
Yet, it seems all the foliage knows her touch...
She, the key giver of root’s bloom.
1/18/2019 For John Lawless:
Slap The Muse And Turn It Loose
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