for Blue Vase and Flowers by Judith Davidson-Palmer
Chrysanthemums yawn
languidly in cool light —
stalks taut yet
swan-neck supple,
leaves mudra-cupped to catch
sheer August sun
trickling past prim purples,
brassy, sassy rose,
down long-legged stems
stuffed
into the generous mouth
blue and unpuckered.
Blooms bleat
in the late noon
about their floral life,
trust in glazed clay
to nourish, close the cut
where roots once were,
to hold the huddling
safe to September.
Backs sag,
mums droop
and some heads
drop to the table
while others chant
Doctor, she know,
she water me strong.
Another petal
spins to the surface
screeching a cobalt gasp.