Sunday, April 29, 2012

How many times?

What was said to the rose
that made it open
was said to me
 – Rumi

How many times
How many times had I turned
the corner of the barn
along side the gray
splintered redwood siding
a flash of color
yellow tipped red petals of a rose
just a single stem
pulled by the afternoon sun
a flower springing from rocks and gravel
How many times had I been here and not seen it
my mind, my thoughts remote, my jaw hard

it was planted when the barn was built
      by a worn-out farmer’s wife
looking for some sweetness in her life
     she presented this gift to the world
maybe he would see it
and it would soften his heart
     but he never did
passing back and forth all his life
and when he died, she buried him
covering his grave with rocks as hard as his heart

How many times had I passed by here?
   maybe it was the angle of the sun
   or perhaps the dying afternoon breeze

How many times?

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