A girl deflowers green stems Places the daisies in a green glass vase Sets them on a nightstand The petals a patch of light Shine meadow brilliance The flowers the sun’s tympanum Light splashes in petals And now that bedroom is a meadow A girl and her mother in a meadow. This fall when the air had turned cold And I first relieved my winter jacket of its summer hanger, I discovered inside a pocket a crumpled daffodil That had endured this last spring’s final frost. Sometimes I cry in delight As I empty my pockets for washing And pull out of my jeans a withered daisy From a previous day’s hike with my husband. Meadows in pockets. My father, who taught me to love flowers, Showed me how to dig a hole for transplanting, How to sprinkle fairy dust Just so in the prepared hole, And how to perform the ritual dance Of pressing firmly with my feet On the loose soil now spread Over the newly moved plant To pack down the dirt. When my father visits me He brings a whole meadow in his car, All petaled and fragrant and blooming, Flowers full of sunshine and moonlight. And I wonder, As he spills out of his vehicle With petals in his wake And his arms open wide to greet me, Who will bring me a car full of meadows Like he does when he’s gone? Will there be any more meadows When he’s no longer here To share in their delight? Poem by Narya Deckard Narya Deckard is an Appalachian poet and an MFA student studying poetry at Lenoir-Rhyne University’s Thomas Wolfe Center for Narrative in Asheville, NC. She feels most at home with grass beneath her feet, a tree above her head, and a book in her hands. Although she has always loved reading and writing, she had to follow a few side trails to discover she needs books like she needs oxygen.