Diphylleia 

Image: ‘paracosmos’ by torbakhopper

Daughter, please         hold my hand. There is rain       coming; look — a congregation of heavy promise

waits above our heads

to bathe us.        It gives God

to our ordinary air. Aren’t you

beautiful? I have a gift for you. 

Please,

hold my hand; k ep me in your tender palm. Parts of me are fading — your name, your sister       flowers.

Did    have sons? Oh.  Why must

I be               dismantled

s  slowly? I’m afraid. Please     hold my hand. I’m s rry.

Aren’t you          beautiful?

I have a gift for you; diphylleia — the rain makes a s-skeleton    most gentle          from its petals, translucent when touched        by falling skies in Japan. See how its colours      weep

— see that crown of clarity, the petals

in     their party dress, clear as

Cind rella’s glass slipper. Ar n’t you

b autiful?

Pl ase, dau  ter,

hold my hand. Parts of me     fading. A   ‘t you beautiful? There’ll b   ain    for flow rs

today. I named you

after a

fl wer,  crowned  you   mine. Please

I  m

be utif l.


hold my hand?


First published on Poethead, June 2017