Poem of the Week, 8/15/17
Zorida Mohammed
If I Died Today, I Would Not Mind.
I am sitting on my kitchen porch steps amidst my flowers,
in high summer, as peaceful as Ferdinand the bull.
The red dahlias that have survived many winters tower over me.
Bronze maple leaf hibiscus, as well as ordinary ones of different colors, surround the porch.
Echinacea have lost their rosy pink petals, and rounds of dark, spiky seeds
now sit atop the tall stalks waiting for whomever will eat them.
Bleeding hearts, with their ferny foliage, live in the shadow of the blue columbine,
the seeds spilled from its papery pods into the surrounding soil.
The irises and lilies are all strappy leaves;
their stick-like green stalks are all that’s left of their blooms.
The lady slippers, grown from seeds snuck in from Romania
by a friend’s mother, are so prolific I weed them like weeds.
The geraniums and snap dragons require frequent pruning to keep up their show.
The oleander cuttings that I’ve stuck into the composty soil
have sprouted new growth. The plant given by a friend
will now be potted up to grace the home of another friend.
Numerous other flowers are being short- changed and will go unnamed.
The Red Wheelbarrow Poets 