Showing posts from May, 2018

Blanket Flower

Here it is in a bucket: Blanket flower. This is Connecticut, And this is a cold and wet Memorial Day. This is wrong. This flower does not belong here Or in a bucket. This is cultural appropriation at its worst: Here in this rainforest Is a plant from a warm and dry world Whose reach might go for miles Along dunes, across dunes, all over empty lots-- All sunshine, blue sky, and endless heat: This is what it means to blanket. But it is stuck in a bucket. Look at these flowers: These are faces that never go indoors. They drink the sun and the heat And turn it into color. Defenseless, exposed, Easily stepped upon, They nevertheless stitch together The grains of sand that define The limits of the walkable earth. Go beyond these flowers, And you better know how to swim. Only you can save yourself in that place If you feel inclined To claim the water The way the flower claims the sand.