Adder’s Tongue, Lily Family
—In Wildflowers Every Child Should Know by Stack and Weaver (1914)
The lilies pose chins down and serious
for the photo. Even in black and white,
they loom off the page like prophets.
We named them for animals—
leaves for the trout’s mottled side,
petals white and sharp as a hound’s
bared teeth, stamens like a snake’s
testing tongue. They practically hiss.
I am not the only one to search them out.
Someone wrote all around the photo,
a note for every rendezvous—
Sent a box of them to Joleen,
one to Kenneth—1917, 1918, 1921—
Then I turn the page on a real hello:
a pressed adder’s tongue
on a stiff, ribbony stem.
The live thing dyed the paper
deep yellow. Someone moved the leaf
once, years ago.
Now the print is like a mirrored face
or a bird seen from below.
AZA PACE is the author of the poetry collection Her Terrible Splendor, which won the Emma Howell Rising Poet Prize from Willow Springs Books. Read more.