Garden Verse

There was a time when I

could not have told you the names

of the flowers in my garden. I

studied them like new guests 

at a dinner party, waiting 

patiently for introductions.

But now I walk the wall

that borders my beds and I see

cinquefoil, aster, jacob’s ladder,

feverfew and forget-me-not.

This pleases me;  order and 

reason now grow between 

coneflower and chrysanthemum.

Wish I could say the same for

passion, jealousy, desire, betrayal.

words I thought I once knew:

perennials till I felt the blood from 

turning them over on my tongue. 

When I catalogue them I will 

say: They grew between the

certainties, pushing out perfect rows

of coneflowers and chrysanthemums.

Disturbing the wild grasses so.

But oh, they put on such a show.