Friday, August 6, 2010

Poem, August 4 8:30 AM


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?

2 comments:

Songbird said...

It's a mystery, isn't it, what brings things back?

Jan said...

wonderful