Perhaps it’s because of my name that I feel such a kinship with flowers. I notice them like my husband notices vintage cars. Their colorful allure tugs at my camera — snap, snap, adjust, focus …snap. I need to own them, take them home.
There I parade them on my computer screen in all their bearded, belled and bonneted beauty. I enlarge them to look deep inside their secret rooms. I admire this pink rhodo’s wine freckles and that one’s variegated peach-to-cream petals. My currant’s blossoms have blood-red anthers on needle-slim stamens. These hydrangeas are filigree that could tiara a bride. Jester tulips and pinwheel petunias make me grin. And see those magnolias? They’re opening like one peels a banana!
I spend a couple of garden hours on Saturday settling Impatiens, Nicotiana and Dusty Miller for the summer. After the long winter exile, it feels like a family reunion.
© 2012 by Violet Nesdoly
I wrote this prose poem for my Volta poetry group last spring (when we set ourselves a prose poem assignment). I planted this year’s garden last Friday and felt the same sense of kinship.
This poem is submitted to Poetry Friday, hosted this week by Linda at TeacherDance.