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Pohutukawa bloomed everywhere
that year
I didn't know
so many trees were
hiding the secret
of red tassels
tipped in gold
in the city

They're the wrong variety
said a fellow expat
In the early days
we were so concerned
with distinctions like these
The only native bird
in the city
the scrappy tui

Out here though
I thought I knew
what we were buying into
I still don't have a clue
what a tawa looks like
but I know
kowhai is yellow
and how they bloom
like cherry blossom
on bare trees in Spring

I know
how the fat kereru strip the leaves
in Fall
how the Tui drink nectar
in Spring
how the ephemeral faintail
dances between

I was so precious
about this land
to think it so
authentic
but these tender ferns would die
without the irrigation system
that takes more than our
fair share of water
in dry February
every year 
they are imposters here 
too

 

6 March 2016

The Language of Flowers

• 
  

Do you like to garden?
the estate agent asked
tangerine nails
tapping out
where to sign.

Rose, thornless: love at first sight

She died the year before
of course
I only met the husband.
Clamoring up and down
those garden paths
he paused.
A rare fern grows here
he said
but now he can't
seem to find it.

Camellia, pink: longing for you

He was a horrible man
the neighbor said
made her do everything
even after
she got sick.

Hydrangea: you are cold, heartlessness

Another said
she liked to take
the hidden path
between our houses
bringing Summer vegetables.

Rose, pink: friendship

I see her hand
in these gardens
strips of old cloth
support leaning trees
she never had the heart
to pull up an ill-placed sapling.

Geranium, ivy-leaf: your hand for the next dance

And I wonder
if she left a message here
in the language of flowers

Carnation, pink: I'll never forget you

Or maybe she just
really liked pink.

Cyclamen: Resignation and goodbye

 

February 28th, 2016