In the Botanical Garden
A great longing is upon us, to live again in a world made of gifts.
-Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass
A sun-drenched bed
of snowdrops and winter aconite,
white-tailed bumblebees, even pigeons
beckon to me, strutting iridescent breasts
and looking me sideways in the eye.
Spring's first polished motorcycle rumbles by
but can't compete with a wren's tremble-chatter
or this ancient magnolia, pink galleon
acrest a sea of yellow-white.
I linger amidst her silver limbs.
A woman who reminds me of someone
sails by, a weathered book in her weathered
hands, in her smiling eyes: mine.
Love after fifty is like love before the age
of five, unable to contain itself.
Now, I'm the unconditional bench;
now, the regal tree; now
the whispering sweet air, and petals
like kisses rain through me.
Ingrid Andersson has practiced as a home-birth nurse midwife for over 20 years. She studied poetry and literature in Swedish, German, French and English, as well as anthropology, at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, before mixing that fertile ground with the art and science of midwifery. Read more.