Perennial

It’s late spring in Minnesota. That’s why this blog has a bit of the echoing sound of summertime school halls right now. I’m outside whenever I can be. I admit that I worship the sun. I finished this poem from a pouty roost at the coffeeshop yesterday while it was raining.

Perennial
by Julia Tindall Bloom 5/25/11

Perennial means forever.
I remember this each spring,
When the bleeding heart comes all quick and tumbling out of the bare ground,
Lines of tiny pink and white clowns
Pouring out of a celery-stem car.
Plants, unlike people, do not age.
I ponder this
As I survey my wrinkling skin,
My gathering cellulite,
As I pull on my first pair of shorts
In this new spring,
And I wonder about resurrection.
It is inarguable that we animals
Rise again as plants.
Is that all?

5 Comments

  1. yes yes yes, you’ve nailed one Julia, I was hooked at line three, the long line accelerates “all quick and tumbling” and brakes perfectly with “bare ground.” Bare ground is just a wonderful set of words here.

    I really, really, really tried to edit this, to find fault, to make it better, but couldn’t. No doubt you worked with it a bit. Nicely done, send it somewhere! And tell us when it is published!

    Nnox

  2. “survey” is just right, I can see you (or the imagined poet, if I didn’t know her) frowning at herself.

  3. Ah! I snuggled up in a chair with my morning coffee to read your poem. It was like a bit of sunshine on this rainy day (yes, another rainy day!). Only one problem…… I wanted to read more. Your writing brings peace on a stormy day. It comforts me. Keep writing, my child.

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