First Sex

Who would guess that glory
would live on a pea plant’s
sticky mouth smeared

with golden pollen?
The monk frees
the flowers’ sexes

from the calico bonnets
and shoos the abbot’s
sweet-bottomed bees

and with tweezers snips
powder from the anthers
while the style hot with nectar

reaches up. He pushes the tip
of the camel-hair brush
in this bright dust—

and the bells of the flowers
twist to him; the knotting tendrils
strain on their brittle twigs—

and the tiny stem is painted
gently, as if it were
a thread of spun glass.

The opening yellow
bud swallows
the scientist’s bait

and it floats down
into the ovum like a
point of light in the throat

so that the whole body
is singing deep praise
of his touch and oh

yes Mendel this
moment is the best
of glory’s evidence—

one can see it even
in the white blossom’s
effusion of bliss.


-Susan B. A. Somers-Willett

I like to pretend.
that my skin is thick
that all words aren't powerful
that I can concentrate on anything...

Good, honest stuff --> Here.

dandelions

Many people, see dandelions as pesky. I don't. They want that manicured, all green front lawn. They use RoundUp (bleh) to achieve this goal. The lawn rolls in tiny squares that never quite seem to come together, like that man made edge just has to stick around mocking the homeowners for years to come. "That's right, you can't walk on me all summer," the lawn says defiantly.

I like the dandelion. It teaches; it perseveres. I've watched them blossom. Their short cycle is inextricably lovely. They spring up protecting themselves with large jagged leaves, bloom bold and yellow, close themselves from the outside, then metamorphose into a lovely white puff. Nora and I often pick the white flowers and help the process of the dandelions along.

I can only hope my own cycles are so simple and productive. I can only hope that I protect myself and my thoughts until I am ready to spread them to others, that I can make a bold statement without trying, that the wind and sun can be integral parts of my existence.

listen

Today I've been watching birds. I watched them this morning as Nora roamed the front yard. I watched them this afternoon as I ate lunch. I watched them this evening.

I was moved by their gracefulness. They seem to travel in pairs. Swallows, finch, crows, mockingbirds, they're all so lovely. The sun gleams across their feathered backs, revealing a myriad of colors. They call and sing to each other, and I wonder what they're communicating. To me, their lives seem so simple. I doubt that is true. All forms of life are complicated. I wonder what those birds are trying to communicate to me.

This afternoon a crow flew back and forth from the wires in front of my porch to my roof. I would see it's shadow on the walk as it perched above me. I could feel his presence. What can I learn from these seemingly elusive creatures?