a love poem to promise
Flower Duet
notes in the mail
“nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands” E. E. Cummings
A walk to collect the mail, the fingers of a breeze lifting my hair from my neck, the sole of my flip flops nibble-kissing my feet like a mother entranced by her baby’s. A song of birds whose lyrics I’ve memorized except I’ve yet to identify the soloists — divinity’s magic and mystery duly reverenced.
My neighbor’s fence, collapsing beneath the aeonium arboreum, I know well. Still this awed morning it surprises me as much as the white glaze of clouds sponged like Led Zeppelin’s stairs in what I persist in thinking should be an unrelievedly, heavenly un-climate changed blue summer sky. I’m such an old dog when it comes to resisting hell.
But sister aeonium, doggedly thriving despite the drought — so wicked witchy of humidity, to promise yet not deliver — has perfected a new trick. An entrancing treat this hallowed morning.
Look with your eyes, I reprimand myself. But Gaia overrides my mother, urges me to surrender. At once, before She can change her mind or protest that I am projecting, I dive into the purple, green, and black dappled forest — alert for a place where a cutting’s breakage won’t show.
The hot pink geranium branch breaks, the snap devouring the birdsong in one gulp.
A duet arises — jasmine scented with a note of roses. I am Lakmé singing Mallika’s part.
I turn the key in the mailbox. More notes spill into the soft hands of my wings and abeyant rain.
Ah descendons ensemble.
Ah let us descend together. To the ascendant river within us lettered with petals spelling words yet to root.
But, then, perhaps they’re not meant to.
©Jenine Bsharah Baines 2021
I took Trisha Traughber’s advice and went for a walk. Fingers crossed, my geranium cutting will root and thrive mightily. Considering that I ‘borrowed’ it from neighbors Maria and Jesus — gotta love their names — my hopes are high. Especially since they joined their voices to Gaia’s.
The Flower Duet is from Léo Delibes’ opera Lakmé. Yes, opera…But, opera loathers, if you listen for only 1 minute, 5 seconds, you’ll recognize the duet. As the site’s name infers, you — yes, you! — may well be inspired to sing along.
Meanwhile, here’s Trisha’s prompt:
Speaking of leaving desks behind, I’ll be winging my way on a red eye tonight to check in on my elderly mother for a week. Not sure if I’ll be submitting any poetry…but I’ll be reading yours, dearest readers!
Thank you, Trisha, again for a home supporting my vagabond soul.