《Strange world》fragrant rhododendron died . . .
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. . . had to die, of course
the universal plan
but also maybe from my deadly/deathly touch
what touches me
and what I touch
all doomed
and swiftly too
attraction sad mistake
right from the start
the beauty of those blushing blooms
the shockingly sweet scent
cried out to me
seemed to want me
in that yielding month of May --
may I? you may! seemed message then
season, moment, person, place
all felt so strangely right
despite bereavement, brutal grief and loss
buds were opening
seemed to answer want with want
seemed to meet need with nature's need
not so, a dirty, drear mistake
now to be new year remedied
though remedy is not the word
there is no remedy
just silent turn away, hushed death —
end of hope, of thought —
surely, in time, end of all the wanting too?
'til then, a queer dark satisfaction
to see each day the pot of baby rhododendron sprouts —
love-nurtured cuttings from alluring parent plant —
all dead, all done, all withered up and gone
thank god! no more reminders
of bursting perfumed springtime love
engendered all those months ago
no more shamefilled aftermath
lurking on my doorstep
as I leave lonely home each lonely winter day. . . .
look down —
oh no! see different pot, forgotten
lurching tall with bright green rhododendron growth
bold babies stretching high, vivid, vital, thick stemmed
is this . . . could this be that same sweet-scent flesh-toned one?
is it still here unseen, hidden but not dead
still secret growing, thriving after all?
oh no! danger pleasure rising
sick stupid smile
fighting forth
on perma-gloomy downturned lips
oh.
no.
fuck no.
***
(image above — rhododendron Else Frye)
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