Butterfly Weed by Bob Bradshaw

Butterfly Weed

The petunias flaunt their purple dresses
and their petticoats like can-can girls.
The geraniums on the fire escape
lean out with their bright faces

like children along a parade route.
Everywhere I am welcomed.
with festive oranges and yellows.

The perfumed ladies in lavender
forgive my mistakes at the office.

They are as forgiving as children
on birthdays. Old sins
are not logged. There is no memory
of lost annuals, or plants dug out

with leaf mold. Every day I bring
long drinks of water to this garden.
Like the butterfly weed, I long to live

only for the moment, my days
diaries of water and sun.

by Bob Bradshaw

 

Editor’s Note: Personification drives this poem from image to image. The narrator’s voice is a flower of mistakes at the office.