Columbine by Linda Ferguson

“Columbine” by Linda Ferguson, published in The Poeming Pigeon: In The News, released in August 2018 by The Poetry Box.

Columbine

Ballerina slender stalks, opening
to petal silk, fluted
like a fairy’s skirt as she flits from fern
to fragrant moss

round leaves sheltering
ladybugs, potato bugs,
bees of bumble and honey,
pink worms, green crickets,
wings of moon-white moths,

my first Columbine – fingertips pressing seeds
into yogurt cups on our window sill – then
cradling my baby daughter on the couch, both of us
sick and falling into sweet fever dreams
of whimsical blossoms the color
of butter and cream –

silence of seeds beginning to stir,
pushing open, unseen, as my young son plays
beside me, humming a song
in a parallelogram of sunshine –

Columbine, flower of picnics and
petrichor – the baby awake now
and sucking on me for dear life –

Columbine

Columbine

suddenly flowering
into a burst of fire
forcing entry,
moving from room to room,
taking hostages in fertile imagination,
finger-painting it with the gore
of church pews, classrooms, and the dance floor
where the elegance of erotic love
had begun to unfurl –

and me tightening my arms
around my children and finding there’s no
flying back to the Columbine
of a sun-warmed couch
and baby seeds beginning to sprout –

before a chorus of pale pistils hardened
into artillery of lead and steel,
before we cut our tongues
against the lost innocence
of vowels and consonants:

Sutherland Springs
Sandy Hook
Orlando

Columbine –

Columbine
a flower, a fancy,
sweet milky breath

weight of a baby,
still safe on my chest

 

(Please note, the online format of this poem is left-justified where as the print version dances on the page with more creative indents, etc.)