Home after five weeks away
Routines I fretted against
month after stultifying month
before we got away -
now I'm back,
I'm sinking into
gratefully.
Restocking the fridge,
once such a chore,
I'm about to whizz through,
water those recalcitrant
flower beds and roses,
that in my absence
ought to have carked it
to punish me for my
reluctance.
Climb the step-ladder,
secateurs at the ready,
to grapple with the new
long dangling prickly
shoots of the roses
above the garage entry -
while I had my getaway
they had their breakaway.
And on my travels,
did I anywhere see
such flowers inviting
such intimacy?
Not in the florists
of Manhattan,
or the bedded bulbs
behind the Public Library
where I snapped
the first daffodil
(and the bronze bum
of Gertrude Stein*).
The wilds of Oregon
vouchsafed me
quick raptures
at their sublimity,
and hints of the unhomely
despite recalling
my childhood New Zealand.
Travel in order
to return home -
it's been said before.
Concur, concur, concur.
A rose is a rose
and secateurs are secateurs.
Max Richards
*
http://www.nycgovparks.org/parks/bryantpark/highlights/12323
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