driving too fast
to make my meeting
(careening left-hand-turns through yellow lights)
i saw an incongruous
picket fence on
a shabby city street
where a man in
a white shirt tenderly
tended his sunflowers
and i was four five six
stiff sandals slapping the
three hot blocks of
ocean city pavement
eager to taste again
the newfound land
of orange sherbet
and chocolate
double-dip.
i encountered it, at first
a monster, taller than me,
thing out of an episode of
lost in space
but lemon-bright, smiling,
playful, earth-scented,
inviting,
i gasped and laughed
delighted
and it nodded to me.
how many sunflowers
have i seen since?
how did this man
these sunflowers
unlock the creaky door
of memory?
1 comment:
It's a mystery, isn't it, what brings things back?
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