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Figured I should share a poem for poetry month...

Tulip Elegies-II

Geese bleat over the roof, conversing
somehow with stars as we drowse
beneath constellations of beating wings.
Rearranging staggered lines they steer
a sunward pattern, calling out
as they fly, naming the long way.

Below, under shovels of dirt
the dead move imperceptibly,
turning into other shapes of life.
Tulip bulbs shift under dark horizons
of winter and wedge against years
of decayed shale. Shoots form within,

still trapped, and a miniature blossom
waits in each bleached kernel. Last spring
winged leaves fed this future and wilted.
Now, unmoved by geese or moonlight,
bulbs listen through solstice nightfall
for the searing call of one hot star.

Denise Low
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sobelle

March 2011

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