For two weeks, the street fleets
with pink blossoms, clustered petticoats,
a line of chorus girls kicking their skirts
overhead. Branches stacked with marshmallow globes,
leisure suit’s disco balls. Cumulus clouds
that open into thunderheads, the pom-poms
of boutonnieres and cheerleaders letting you know
what you had hoped for has arrived.
How grateful am I to those
who planted these trees sixty years ago,
not knowing who they planted them for.
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A brand new poem, as in 53 minutes old!
Cherry or plum blossoms. Any ideas how to tell them apart. These trees bloomed late and had huge pink clusters. Thoughts?
3 comments:
no idea but i could see them and it was nice. made me feel like spring even with my grey skies above
Hey Bren,
I like how the profusion of sounds/images mimics the profusion of blossoms...
(My mum had a crabapple tree in her yard that bloomed beautiful/vulgar like your plum/cherry and really signaled spring for me...)
Two iffy spots in the poem: the first line, where "street fleets" makes me trip (even though I can see why you'd want it, in terms of image/sound...it's just a bit much) and the last three lines, which are sort of awkwardly constructed.
I think "How grateful am I" is the root of problem. Maybe pare it down to "I'm grateful..."?
This piece flows very nicely for me, and I like how it 'becomes', i.e. the way you chose to escape the details. You had my interest all the way through. Nice!
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