Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Native Growth (Poem)

Native Growth

I looked for the roses
in December, put

nose so low to hard
ground, as if smelling

what was cold and dead
already could be enough

to satisfy the hunger to
bloom in unfiltered light.

You always said the color
red doesn't please once

it dries a weak brown hue.
Too quickly we were

caught on stubby thorns,
green as the fibrous stem

serving its double duty —
channel both from and to

source of nourishment.
To dig deeper does not protect

against the tear in skin thin
as the paper you'll sign

to stop my planting in this
climate zone so far north.

Native growth, you remind
me, wants nothing to survive.

What it needs it claims its own.

© 2013 Maureen E. Doallas

9 comments:

Kathleen said...

Very rich poem. It pricks me like a thorn.

Natasha Head said...

There's 1000 poems waiting to be born from this incredibly powerful write. Such is the power of that native growth...can't deny the fertile soil.

Brian Miller said...

Native growth, you remind
me, wants nothing to survive.....some really cool lines though...and they bear a truth as well...smiles.

Robbie Pruitt said...

Thank you for this! Great poem.

Robbie Pruitt said...

Thank you for this! Great poem.

Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

I love your language, and the way you pace your sentences.

scotthastiepoet said...

this great work - your voice sparkles throughout - a triumph, with a voice that stands alone.

Stan Ski said...

Great metaphor here...

lucychili said...

roses here are as feisty as our native plants. both can be spiky.