In the morning there were flowers

In the morning there were flowers
Not picked, but growing
Not for foraging
It is called landscaping
Bunched together by breed
Separated from other kinds
Sometimes by cedar chips, sand, or rocks
Other plants and bushes can function in this way as well
Compartment, neighborhood, reminder, list
Mall, television, coal stove
Book, journal
Story

Life in silent protest
Leaving hair by the side of the drain
Reminiscent of some slice of life comedy
Where kids say the darnedest things
And everybody loves somebody in all their idiosyncratic ways
Statements muffled but said
Under the breath
Knowingly said, mutually understood and unremarkable
Turning on and off lights with consideration
Putting some things away
Leaving others out still
There are seasons
But it is likely unnoticed
How the slight changes differ year to year
Rooting, flowering, thorn, stem
Field, garden, community
Variety, pruning
Plot
--
8.7.09

Comments

a modern clock to chime. said…
It sounds strange, but here you've pinned Americana and the crushing death of fifties butter-and-syrup idealism like a butterfly to cork board.
I really like it.
August 7, 2009 at 10:43 AM
Enri Zoltz said…
thanks aMCtc! I reread the poem after reading your comment and had a whole new experience with it. I appreciate the perspective share. It allows me to read my own stuff with a different set of eyes. Usually, I have to put writing in the humidor for several months before I can take a fresh puff.
August 7, 2009 at 11:55 AM
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