that iris

that iris
to N. and her mother-in-law. All things are possible except to relive or rewrite those years up to that final midnight
                                 
when we left
that morning
my mother having just
got to know you
yet well enough
told you she would
name the iris
after you
that peeling open
of mauve amidst
the pale green

much later
she said she knew
you were in trouble
when your flower
began to wither
out of season
easy to say we
saw such signs
after the event
yet whether she
saw it truly or
it was merely a
bitter flight
of fancy
she was right
in the worst
possible
way
who knows
perhaps
this much later
you two have even
crossed paths again
in that sky peeling
open iris to
iris met
watered in
the shallow griefs
and deeper joys
of lives lived
and left
 
 
                         september  2015

4 thoughts on “that iris”

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