Mimosa Skirts
I never saw the Mimosa bloom
this year, missed witnessing branches
laden with little ladies in petticoats -
each pink puff so carefully careless.
Walking through the woods today,
well into September, her last blossom
long past, I saw seedlings
groping, naked, at her legs.
Autumn leaves them bare, and I
pity the lack of skirts they find
in which to hide shy faces. It seems
a harsh way to spend the coming winter.
Spring will come again,
and burn its way into summer -
I wonder if her little ones
will have survived, or be buried
in the shedding of next year's dress.
Tagged: Poem, Poetic, Poetry, Writing
Very nice take on this, E. We strip clothing and lay ourselves open to vulnerabilities. Happens in real life too.
ReplyDeleteI liked this one (not too complicated for me ;)
ReplyDeleteI actually undesrstood it and it was touching. You see beauty in everything, or convey what see in a beautiful way is probably a better way to put it. There's always analogies in poems, I know, but I choose to stay with the skirtless Mimosa.
Erin, I found this incredibly moving and, of course, beautiful. Just the image of mimosa blooms is beautiful enough, but the layers and layers of meaning in this make it all the more wonderful.
ReplyDeleteA super poem! Definitely publish-worthy. Have you submitted it anywhere yet?