By flowers
–a reverse abecedarian
zinnias, Mama says, are her favorite flowers;
yesterday her most beloved was
Xerochrysum, the paper daisy or strawflower,
which Mama knew the scientific name for because her aunt,
Verlee, was an amateur horticulturist,
unusually expert at pinching leaves and stems
to root in her greenhouse —
and suddenly Mama most prefers
Scabiosa, or pincushion flower, but no — Salvia, she says,
red spikes, vibrant and thrilling, as she recalls rare
quiet moments in Verlee’s many gardens, among
peonies and lady’s mantle in the spring border, while her other aunt,
Orene, sat in the shade sipping iced tea,
nodding as Mama headed to the vegetable garden to set out
marigolds between the rows of tomato seedlings;
late in the day, the listing of flowers falls away, light fades,
keening begins, the sundowning that closes the morning glory’s bloom,
jabbering nonsense that blossoms into rage —
help her remember
iris, the purple bearded lovelies she planted behind her beauty shop,
hope she will recall how they rebloomed as perfect as before,
give her the courage to —
forget-me-not! she is back if only briefly,
eager to remind me that the most special flowers,
daylilies, are for daughters or maybe mothers, she isn’t sure but she smiles,
calls up one more favorite —
then by flowers, our daily therapy is done
because she has remembered from zinnia, a symbol of enduring, to
anemone, fragile flower of such short life
Daun Daemon grew up in Hudson, NC, and spent much of her childhood quietly listening to the women in her mother’s home beauty shop. Oh, the stories she can tell! Many of those stories have made their way into her fiction and her poetry. For more than 20 years, she has taught scientific communication at North Carolina State University and lives in Raleigh with her husband and four cats.
