At the Flower Show

Because of the grandmother who always raised flowers ... and reared me ... I have always had a certain connection with blossoms.

There is just something about being in the company of flowers ... the memories they stir with their scents, their color.

"At the Flower Show" is about one of those special occasions, a gathering of flowers ... and people ... a flower show.

But it's not so much about the flowers. I felt that my collection of words, picked up here and there along the way, would be inadequate to describe the flowers.

Ah, but the people. I was one of them. I could jot down something about the experience of being at a flower show. It would be something to remind me of that sunny day, that beautiful setting ... the realities of being there.

Of course, I couldn't resist the temptation to compare the visitors to flowers themselves.

The poem:

AT THE FLOWER SHOW

Visitors blossom in bright lines
when day begins, but start wilting
under the sun, and throngs
slowly surrender, settling
like long rows of potted plants
along the wooden benches.
© 1999
(originally published in Sisters Today)


Today's word: wilting