the hibiscus way
By the new earth twilight, I was there? Oh, I think two or three days ago
I wandered through the garden onto the gray car porch to check out
in post-tuition, unwise mosquito-inviting bare leg and arm
the flowering plants in the front were about
hanging, sprouting, all, it seemed to me, calm
quite content in their own chaos they call their habitat
I watched the small ixora try to grow to a respectable height
put in there by my father, but now, some ten years following that
they struggle in tough soil, nutrient-bare, in accepting and tolerant plight
but without much accomplishment to free them in a new miniature birth
the palm tree shelter from the western sun, old branches, now weak
brittle, crisp, hang and fall, with a theatrical crash, to the tight, mean earth
then, a hibiscus, hanging in a poignant, weary way, I clasped in gentle technique
peering close at the anther, yellow tip, the filament, a thin burgundy
the thicker style and the waiting stigma in the insect-caring evening air
a group or ten of small orange berries, and tiny lilac flowers watching me
maybe wishing an insect might treat a mate or two, but none seemed to care
or they thought other people might smell and taste better; I was, of course, rather wet
at that time of the pre-shower early night, a layer of unwashed grime
maturing its way throughout the warm afternoon, incessant, to get
a fine, sticky coat, a perfect fit, massaging humidity in unremitting time
by the new earth twilight, oh, I think two or three days ago
By the new earth twilight, I was there? Oh, I think two or three days ago
I wandered through the garden onto the gray car porch to check out
in post-tuition, unwise mosquito-inviting bare leg and arm
the flowering plants in the front were about
hanging, sprouting, all, it seemed to me, calm
quite content in their own chaos they call their habitat
I watched the small ixora try to grow to a respectable height
put in there by my father, but now, some ten years following that
they struggle in tough soil, nutrient-bare, in accepting and tolerant plight
but without much accomplishment to free them in a new miniature birth
the palm tree shelter from the western sun, old branches, now weak
brittle, crisp, hang and fall, with a theatrical crash, to the tight, mean earth
then, a hibiscus, hanging in a poignant, weary way, I clasped in gentle technique
peering close at the anther, yellow tip, the filament, a thin burgundy
the thicker style and the waiting stigma in the insect-caring evening air
a group or ten of small orange berries, and tiny lilac flowers watching me
maybe wishing an insect might treat a mate or two, but none seemed to care
or they thought other people might smell and taste better; I was, of course, rather wet
at that time of the pre-shower early night, a layer of unwashed grime
maturing its way throughout the warm afternoon, incessant, to get
a fine, sticky coat, a perfect fit, massaging humidity in unremitting time
by the new earth twilight, oh, I think two or three days ago
