 |
| Image / Daphne L |
Named after the Greek goddess
who carried messages from heaven to earth
on the arc of a rainbow,
their long stems flourished in our yard,
lining the path to our stoop and front door.
Each May they seemed to spring suddenly.
One day none,
the next a whole chorus
of violet singing
as we came and went,
as we posed for graduations, sacraments.
So many of them, my mother
cut and blanketed them like babies
for the Blessed Mother.
They kept me company as I roller-skated,
as I watched my older sisters go off
to do things I wasn’t allowed to do,
as I played hide and seek with my younger.
This spring so many decades later,
I’m surprised again
when I see the first one—
so luxurious I have to get
down on the ground
to confirm it’s not velvet
sprung from the earth.
Maria Giura, PhD, is the author of two poetry collections published by Bordighera Press—If We Still Lived Where I Was Born (Nov. 2025) and What My Father Taught Me—and a memoir, Celibate (Apprentice House Press). An Academy of American Poets winner, Giura teaches writing workshops for Casa Belvedere Cultural Foundation; instagram.com/
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please be supportive and kind in your comments.