So much I ought to be doing but
All I want to do is play with flowers
Plan elaborate gardens for rich people
With perennial beds spiraling around fountains
and lotus pools set with reeds and frogs
And dogwoods wearing birdhouses like earrings.
Maybe I should start a nursery, make money from this obsession,
But what I want to do
Is bathe in a giant calla lily.
I must become tiny.
I draw the sacred circle,
Kindle the magic fire
And chant the incantation:
“Persephone Pan Ceres Flora
Stepping out of the calla lily bath,
I roll in a heap of rosepetals,
And then I don my lady’s mantle and Dutchman’s breeches
before strolling through the fragrant lavender forest
To visit Jack in the pulpit.
If it rains, I’ll shelter under a coneflower;
If a spider frightens me I’ll just climb
A clematis vine of fluffy seed-heads
walking under skies of blue flax,
lit by the golden sunshine of coreopsis.
I’ll drink the wine of spring
From a callirhoe cup and become