WILD FLOWERS

WILD FLOWERS

Black-eyed Susans

Lady's Smocks, Blooming Sally Squaw Vine

and Mother' Heart piece a quilt among

the grasses between peaks.

Winded from the hike

I pick a spot in the middle

fall face up under a thunder cloud

sun filtering through thin spots a daisy or

buttercup herself.

The cloud cracks open,

pounds the meadow;

the sun slips out of sight

completely.

Eyes closed, I smell rain

very close

waiting for the perfect moment holding

back.

And I remember the zoo at age

eight.

The sky threatened all day;

we ran from cage to cage

to see it all before the storm.

Out of breath I turned, saw the

baboons mating.

The rain came and we ran

under the food stand

I stood, watched their painted faces

through the downpour

lightning flashing

heard them scream

at the sky as they burst apart

the big one still spouting

rhythmic

wetting the concrete again and again,

his gaze far away

The first wave of rain

opens my eyes

water for the fields.

The whole meadow undulates

with each gust

Black-eyed Susans

Lady's Smocks, Blooming Sally Squaw Vine

and Mother' Heart pressed flat under the

weight.

The wind howls into the valley

brings them water

pounds it into each head shaking

loose every petal.