Walking In Butchart Gardens
My elderly friend and I walk along
the raised flower beds
full of rainbows of blooms,
becoming the mother and daughter
in the famous Renoir painting,
now with the daughter grown up.
We slow our pace,
gazing at pink and yellow dahlias,
velvety purple salvias, blue delphiniums,
hanging baskets of pink bleeding hearts,
red begonias everywhere we look.
Greenery frames the fountain’s dancing spray.
Down the paths of roses,
yellow, orange, white, lavender,
fuchsia, and bright red,
sunlight catches on my friend’s white hair
and the silver metal of her walker.
We stop at a carousel, watching
the pastel horses, the frog, the pig,
the cat with its fish, the goose, and the rabbit
rise and fall, round and round,
until she turns to me.
We part, as I head to ponds of lilies,
surrounded by orange flowers
I don’t recognize.
I picture my friend, smiling amid the roses,
her words echoing inside my mind:
I’m holding you back...back...back...
Go see the rest of the garden.
Go see the rest of the garden.
March 13,2021
Flower or Flowers in Imagism Form Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Note: This is a poem I wrote for my self-published chapbook Song of the Katabatic Wind: Poetry of Travel through Western Canada, which was made for a church fundraiser.
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