The Iris Bloom (a poem)

The way we appreciate a thing can be so tightly wound up with who we perceive ourselves to be. Yet the way we love a flower or a book, they way we’re moved by a song, can be shared in others without any input from us. Eventually, our personal experience will be lost to time, but The Experience will last for eons.

The Iris Bloom

“Without me” The thought of my dying day,
Like the sun drying the musk after rain;
My horizontal left-behind eaten by roots
Until the atoms I’d carried are free—
The dawn arises on a day without me.

“Without me,” like the kiss of reassurance,
Which lightens the pain of scraped knees;
I am lost-blood on the pavement, oxidized
—such a quickly healing injury
For the child who plays on days without me.

“Without me” the garden I keep will wither,
Rainbow blossoms will fade to dust—
Yet in a distant sunshine, an Iris blooms
And passersby pause their day to gaze;
They see purple and yellow, lightning and glee

See a flower that raptures, without me.

…

Cover Image: Photo of Irises from Epic Gardening