Dear Bacon Friends – I just spent several nights at my parents’ home, and in my mother’s garden the flowers were whispering rather loudly amongst themselves…
In the magical garden
September Cle – o – me
feel bound by the ground
so they aim for the sky.
Oh sky, Oh sky! Cry September Cle – o – me,
We do not know why but we must reach the sky!
(Though the sun’s light wanes in September.)
The sturdy liriope
all in a row
bloom purple and perfect
and steady, just so –
alongside September Cle – o – me.
In the magical garden
the ruffalo marigold
glimmer and glow in their prettiest dresses –
We couldn’t care less, say Cle – o – me.
In the magical garden
the phlox bow their heads in their grief
with the weight of their days and their nights.
Look up! Say September Cle – o – me.
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The new terminal at the Nashville airport looks AMAZING!!
* * *
And – thanks for this message on the sidewalk in Raleigh, neighborhood friend I do not know – xoxo
What a lovely ode to your mother’s garden. Cleome has always been a word I like to say too. Anemone is coming soon. Thank you for your posts…many days you make them.
Beautifully written.
Thanks for brightening my day.
I just discovered your poetic endeavor about my garden which is showing the weight of time! But the cleome reaches ever skyward; it goes on and on with what seems no end, producing endless pods of seeds. I gathered more of these seed pods just this afternoon for the purpose of sharing with you and my sisters. If you ever get a start of cleome, it will repay you vastly every year!
I look forward to planting those seeds in the spring, Mom! Your garden is beautiful. xoxo
Beautiful garden and beautiful words
Thank you, dear Marina ~ xoxo