Sending Flowers

How many times was I wishing
I was home during tornado season?
But what’s the point if a twister
can’t lift me over all of blasted Arizona,
if it can’t hurtle me long past the Rockies
to land on your side porch at 304 Charles,
sad & empty, Road? I’m sorry for myself
& shamefully sit in California’s sun
sending flowers in your name. “Ilene”
What a beautiful name, I mean.

Someone from Kingston, Canada phoned
to inform me there aren’t any roses
at this time, but that’s okay. Really okay.
I instructed the daisies to be your sunshine,
from me, from the Rockies, from the Mojave,
where I’ll sit slack-jawed today near I-5 which
looks an awful lot like I-70’s good old belt
in Kansas that stretches &holds on, &on
near the Enterprise cemetery they’ll bury you in,
our blessed, our beautiful Ilene. “Ilene.”

for Blogging University &Grandma Ross

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9 thoughts on “Sending Flowers

  1. I’ve taken I-70 through Kansas. And Missouri. And Indiana. And Ohio. And Pennsylvania.

    Which has little to do with anything except that it’s details like these that are woven so well into the reflective, heartfelt aspect of the poem. Geography and emotion, remembrance and resignation, beauty simply in your grandmother’s name, “Ilene.” That’s how things go: meaning mixed with all the rest. Thank you!

      1. I hadn’t thought of that. Yes, a number of years in the Midwest. Yesterday I was in Baltimore. And someone responded to what a couple of friends and I were asking for (directions, I think) in such way that I said, “For a moment, I felt I was in the Midwest.” My friends, also from the Midwest, agreed. I’m deeply enjoying your work. Thank you!

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