Tags
Poetry, Flowers, Mother's Day, memory, still-life, Tulips, Delftware
Mother’s Tulips by Joan Currie
My mother loved flowers–
tulips most of all.
I never asked why.
It was in her Dutch blood,
her Calvinistic sense of simplicity–
upright, unadorned.
On Mother’s Day
there were always tulips:
pale pink,
set in her Delft vase,
its blue-and-white surfaces
catching the light,
holding it quietly
beneath the stems.
I tried, sometimes,
to improve upon them–
those lavish arrangements–
variegated tulips,
blue hydrangea, white roses,
small bright globes of yellow–
but she would only smile,
as if to say:
not this.
She wanted the tulips alone.
Now, after many years
and other flowers–
peonies, lilies, anemones,
even the careful making
of paper petals–
I pass a market stall
and stop.
I bring home tulips,
pale pink,
and set them in her vase.
In the quiet of the room
they open,
and she is there.
For my mother.
Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers!
Satin & Sand 