Improbable Flower


From a distance

the hillside looks green.

Finding a foothold on jutted quartz,

I climb the path worn well by goats,

avoiding the survivors that root

between  rocks–

tenacious and succulent tufts.

Sharp filaments of warning cling to my cuffs:

“Don’t step on my improbable flower.

I have grown her against all odds.”

I am a hopeful botanist

gathering perslane, caper leaves,

the pale sage, the wild thyme,

moss with a honey-combed dome.

Nicked fingers and nettled socks

are the small price to pay

for a glimpse of the mighty at work.

I am a woman of 52,

from my strands of grey

to my hiking boots.

Lined knuckles and thinning lips

that smile at the improbable flower

grown to her fullest bloom.

From a distance

she cannot be seen.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s