Sunflowers
Posted: 15 Oct 2020, 21:05
v3:
Sunflowers
Pummeling rains
have left my flowering day lilies
sprawled on the ground.
A sunflower lies twisted onto her back,
her overly big head
like a doll's my sister once had
slightly raised.
I lift my sunflower up,
steadying her with one hand.
With the other hand I tie one end
of a white cord
to an old walking stick
that I now use as a stake,
the other end to my battered
sunflower, her “eyes”
cast downward.
Then I turn to assess my tomatoes,
“love apples” my mother called them.
I was eight years old, Mama
leading me down rows of tomato plants,
the “apples” hanging like orbs.
Her southern voice is lost now
but in home movies
she flickers like a hummingbird
amid the honeysuckle's flowers.
She is dressed perpetually
in gardener gloves and floppy hats.
From Dad's blond Chevy
to Mama's straw colored dress,
everything takes on the color of sunlight
in late afternoon.
v2:
Sunflowers
Pummeling rains
have left my flowering day lilies
sprawled on the ground.
A sunflower lies twisted onto her back,
her overly big head
like a doll's I once had
slightly raised.
I lift my sunflower up,
steadying her with one hand.
With the other hand I tie one end
of a white cord
to an old walking stick
that I now use as a stake,
the other end to my battered
sunflower, her “eyes”
cast downward.
Then I turn to assess my tomatoes,
“love apples” my mother called them.
I was eight years old, Mama’s
yellow floppy hat and gloves
leading me down rows of tomato plants,
the “apples” hanging like orbs.
Her southern voice is lost now
but in home movies
she flickers like a hummingbird
amid the honeysuckle's flowers.
She is dressed perpetually
in gardener gloves and floppy hats.
In photos of her everything
takes on the color of sunlight
in late afternoon,
from Dad's blond Chevy
to Mama's straw colored dress.
I have a photo of sunflowers
on Mama's sun splashed grave.
In the picture I’m a small girl lying
on top of the mound, dressed
in a pale lemony dress
and Mama's floppy
yellow hat.
v1:
Sunflowers
Pummeling rains
have left my yellow flowering day lilies
sprawled onto the ground.
A sunflower lies twisted onto her back,
her overly big head
like a doll's I once had
slightly raised.
I lift my sunflower up,
steadying her with one hand.
With the other hand I tie one end
of a white cord
to an old walking stick
that I now use as a stake,
the other end to my battered
sunflower, her “eyes”
cast downward.
Then I turn to assess my tomatoes,
“love apples” my mother called them.
I was eight years old, Mama’s
yellow floppy hat, yellow gloves
leading me down rows of tomato plants,
the “apples” hanging like orbs.
Her southern voice is lost now
but in home movies
she flickers like a hummingbird
amid the honeysuckle's flowers.
She is dressed perpetually
in gardener gloves and floppy hats.
In photos of her everything
takes on the color of sunlight
in late afternoon,
from Dad's blond Chevy
to Mama's straw colored dress.
I have a photo of sunflowers
on Mama's yellowing grave.
In the picture I’m a small girl lying
on top of the mound, dressed
in a pale lemony dress
and Mama's floppy
yellow hat.
Sunflowers
Pummeling rains
have left my flowering day lilies
sprawled on the ground.
A sunflower lies twisted onto her back,
her overly big head
like a doll's my sister once had
slightly raised.
I lift my sunflower up,
steadying her with one hand.
With the other hand I tie one end
of a white cord
to an old walking stick
that I now use as a stake,
the other end to my battered
sunflower, her “eyes”
cast downward.
Then I turn to assess my tomatoes,
“love apples” my mother called them.
I was eight years old, Mama
leading me down rows of tomato plants,
the “apples” hanging like orbs.
Her southern voice is lost now
but in home movies
she flickers like a hummingbird
amid the honeysuckle's flowers.
She is dressed perpetually
in gardener gloves and floppy hats.
From Dad's blond Chevy
to Mama's straw colored dress,
everything takes on the color of sunlight
in late afternoon.
v2:
Sunflowers
Pummeling rains
have left my flowering day lilies
sprawled on the ground.
A sunflower lies twisted onto her back,
her overly big head
like a doll's I once had
slightly raised.
I lift my sunflower up,
steadying her with one hand.
With the other hand I tie one end
of a white cord
to an old walking stick
that I now use as a stake,
the other end to my battered
sunflower, her “eyes”
cast downward.
Then I turn to assess my tomatoes,
“love apples” my mother called them.
I was eight years old, Mama’s
yellow floppy hat and gloves
leading me down rows of tomato plants,
the “apples” hanging like orbs.
Her southern voice is lost now
but in home movies
she flickers like a hummingbird
amid the honeysuckle's flowers.
She is dressed perpetually
in gardener gloves and floppy hats.
In photos of her everything
takes on the color of sunlight
in late afternoon,
from Dad's blond Chevy
to Mama's straw colored dress.
I have a photo of sunflowers
on Mama's sun splashed grave.
In the picture I’m a small girl lying
on top of the mound, dressed
in a pale lemony dress
and Mama's floppy
yellow hat.
v1:
Sunflowers
Pummeling rains
have left my yellow flowering day lilies
sprawled onto the ground.
A sunflower lies twisted onto her back,
her overly big head
like a doll's I once had
slightly raised.
I lift my sunflower up,
steadying her with one hand.
With the other hand I tie one end
of a white cord
to an old walking stick
that I now use as a stake,
the other end to my battered
sunflower, her “eyes”
cast downward.
Then I turn to assess my tomatoes,
“love apples” my mother called them.
I was eight years old, Mama’s
yellow floppy hat, yellow gloves
leading me down rows of tomato plants,
the “apples” hanging like orbs.
Her southern voice is lost now
but in home movies
she flickers like a hummingbird
amid the honeysuckle's flowers.
She is dressed perpetually
in gardener gloves and floppy hats.
In photos of her everything
takes on the color of sunlight
in late afternoon,
from Dad's blond Chevy
to Mama's straw colored dress.
I have a photo of sunflowers
on Mama's yellowing grave.
In the picture I’m a small girl lying
on top of the mound, dressed
in a pale lemony dress
and Mama's floppy
yellow hat.
