Petals strewn and gathered in
like blessings on the congregation,
bending to retrieve before brute feet
can bruise or trample them -
a small memento, scattered
like confetti in the liturgy.
Perhaps they'll place them
near the family ikons,
tokens of the spring, votives
symbolising resurrection.
A little mound of silky sepals
torn from southern autumn gardens
nestles in my hand,
until I meet another woman's glance.
Her eyes bear true impressions
of the early light on skies and seas,
though she'd be maybe eighty
if a day. There is a freshness
in her gaze that makes me offer
what I've saved - her irises
like two blue islands,
long ago and far away…
Свидетельство о публикации №106042200849
I enjoyed it very much thought I didn't understand the main meaning of the poem)
sincerely,
em
Аннет Эм 29.04.2006 21:42 Заявить о нарушении
Here, in an emigre community on the other side of the world, I was touched by the way the women gathered up the petals as a keepsake, something that had been blessed.
It occurs to me only now as I write that, perhaps purely coincidentally, it was men who scattered the petals from dismembered flowers, and women who gathered them in.
The simple gesture of the women touched me, but I think, too, that it has profounder implications, interesting to reflect on but not so simple to explain.
Thank you again for your appreciation of this poem!
Warmest wishes,
Jena
Jena Woodhouse 30.04.2006 05:29 Заявить о нарушении
Happy to meet your works,
sinc,
em
Аннет Эм 30.04.2006 22:26 Заявить о нарушении