I kneel in the dirt,
soil under my fingernails.
The smell of earth
reminds me
of time spent with you
walking in the woods.
You pointed and said,
"It's a Jack-in-the-Pulpit."
A strange green flower
became magical as you added,
"There's Jack"
pointing to the pistil
cupped inside the bulbous bloom.
"And there's his pulpit,"
you declared,
gently touching
the flower's body.
I was just about four.
Planting flowers
you will never see
somehow breaks my heart.
Published by Kylyssa Shay
Kylyssa Shay spent 18 years as a professional floral designer and has aquacultured marine life for fun and profit. Ms. Shay is a freelance writer, an atheist and an avid life-long learner with unusual life e... View profile
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4 Comments
Post a CommentAwwwwww...that is soooo sweet! I love Poetry and I think you are excellent at it.
This is excellent and oh!...do I ever relate. My mother is still alive but too old to plant flowers alone. Of course, we garden "together" now, with her pointing to the spot where she wants a flower to go....but I can imagine a day, one that breaks my heart, when I'll be planting alone :(
The greatest gift that has been given to you is that every time YOU see a Jack in the Pulpit, you think of and remember her even though she isn't here. She may not see them, but you see her through them. That is what's truly magical and such an awesome gift of the Spirit.
Very nice poem, well written.