Taking the Sunflower to the Mountains
i held our sunflower up as we drove
past fields of former sunflowers,
past Margaret’s house & rows
of dead dry stalks quite prone
like summer’s pale accomplishments.
It had had a good life in the yard
& would scatter lavish seeds
beneath the smoke from western fires.
Our flower looked out from the Prius
while i whispered in its ear:
Where my sunflower wishes to go
(from Blake)
& You were never no locomotive
(from Ginsberg)
º º º º º º
. .
. . Our sunflower looked off-key,
. . it had a broken stem & wouldn’t
make it to the mountains whole.
`````` But it had captured oxygen in its beaks
& would stretch its golden aura
to the ground. It’s necessary to travel
between realisms.
M & i had discussed how women & plants might do
the work. The flower kept watch on its
last day, guarding every opening & door.
For MR
BRENDA HILLMAN is the author of ten collections of poetry, from Wesleyan University Press, most recently Seasonal Works with Letters on Fire (2013), which received the Griffin International Prize for Poetry, and Extra Hidden Life, Among the Days (2018). Read More