First, I admit to
thoughts about small New York hotels
about white Carolina beaches.
about exquisite borrowings from daily life,
a room, poorly lit,
bare but for a futon and a nightstand,
a phone and a clock.
The plaster needs work.
Today Elena said her computer was at first
like a new lover, but if you don't pay enough attention to him
you become bored, then wrongly blame the lover.
She said this with her Spanish accent
which of course made it sound very literary and correct.
Then I think about flowers, too--irises,
not the tall ones I brought you
which stood against the summer light in a glass vase
but beardless Japanese irises, still rooted,
about to open, here.
The lilies will not present themselves until July.
I wanted you to
feast your eyes on those flowers
or if that were impossible
to watch my sister's video of this garden.
I wanted a few more exquisite hours,
just something modest, attainable.
In the room or in the garden?
Your itinerary and your passport are ready.
Before you leave, let's talk about the false bleeding hearts,
the columbine's purple blossoms bending the stems down to the walk,
the evening primrose, creeping everywhere forward into the lawn,
in a phalanx of downy leaves.
Next week there will be so much insistent yellow!
You won't be surprised to hear
I don't have to do anything with these plants;
this stuff grows with or without me.
Now I'm looking for a metaphor about permanence
for what always goes on
even if the gardener falls asleep
or daydreams.
The bare room
needs more care than the garden,
more attention that the computer,
needs the instant relentless pressure of the calendar
against the wish to leave
against the fear of departure.
Bio: Lynne
Viti, a lawyer, teaches courses in writing about law at Wellesley
College. She has been writing poetry since she was in high school. She
thanks Augusta Reilly, RSM and Carol Wheeler, RSM, her high school
creative writing teachers, for all they taught her. Her short story,
"Going Too Fast" appeared in the Winter 2000 issue of
Moondance.
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