|Tulip Fields in the Skagit Valley, Northwest Washington|
There was no doubt in my mind what poem I wanted to share this week for Poetry Friday. I can feel something new in my bones and in my head and in my skin and my lungs: Spring is coming, bringing the daffodils and tulips. Glory be, hip, hip, hooray, hallelujah!
The tulips make me want to paint,
Something about the way they drop
Their petals on the tabletop
And do not wilt so much as faint,
Something about their burnt-out hearts,
Something about their pallid stems
Wearing decay like diadems,
Parading ﬁnishes like starts,
Something about the way they twist
As if to catch the last applause,
And drink the moment through long straws,
And how, tomorrow, they’ll be missed.
The way they’re somehow getting clearer,
The tulips make me want to see—
The tulips make the other me
(The backwards one who’s in the mirror,
The one who can’t tell left from right),
Glance now over the wrong shoulder
To watch them get a little older
And give themselves up to the light.