Thursday, May 21, 2009

His Garden

Here I am
the wild and loose fuschia
rose you tried to hide.
You wanted a larger
more profound bloom, one
that flowers then dies
flowers then
dies, flowers
then dies
all summer.
You cut me
to place her inside where
her pleasing delicious colors could
satisfy you again and again.
You didn't plan for me to
break loose against
the grafting.
You didn't expect me
to live again but provide
only a backbone and
heartbeat to your
hybrid rose, created to
please you but
here I am
burst free from my training
spraying these clusters of
chaotic pink flowers
spreading tiny uninhibited
foliage across your porch
across your evergreens, even
the peonies and
stately stalks of oriental lily
rising to late spring.
Here I am
the wild that cannot be
contained, the finely planned
disorganization of one-season
blooms created by One
who smiles on such things.
You didn't expect me this spring but
He did.

Melissa Greene
The photo above can be found at:

1 comment:

  1. I like this poem, "His Garden". I read poetry every day. It struck a chord within. Thanks.