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.
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