Late Bloomer
More important than spring's anguish
—from which color is scarcely wrung—
is summer's gush of flowers, the sun's beat
intent on burgeoning, the creeks spinning out
like unsnarled reels—
so that we should all feel free to choose
which phrase, for instance, we might covet:
the clock with funereal tones struck noon
or Yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty
moves away the pall...
It's time to bloom! The middle season orders.
And so things do: columbine, aster, rose,
geranium, milk vetch, corydalis
and last, the alpine gentian
which in truth I've never seen, yet
how hard can it be to imagine?
Large sky-blue petals opening in September
like the lids of tired eyes
that have been too long under sleep's delusion,
until Awake! Awake! Again the light's effusive clock
shakes up the shadows, and it seems so easy now
for those of us healthy, with adequate means
or blessed with resilient spirit
to rise, determine our unfurling,
to take in the dew and the arched dawn.
Anne Coray’s debut novel Lost Mountain was published in 2021 with West Margin Press. Read more.