but blue better rhymes
The hyacinths nosing us
with their blooming scent.
Us – the other houseplants,
the fridge, the drying linen
on the clotheshorse,
the competing scented candles.
The bold blue hyacinths
and bloom out of their pot.
The fridge is humming this morning as I sit at my table and prepare this post. I woke before my alarm set for 06:45. Today is Friday and from my table, a small dining table with black hairpin legs, in the upper reaches of my loft room I see the neighbours’ garden yards. The blossoming trees at the far end have ended their week-long display. The petals fell in confetti piles on the flat garage roofs and collected on the pitched roof of my neighbour’s garden photography studio.
The spring burst now is a young tree flowering in pink, balls of blossoms clustered on its twiggy branches. There’s more going on: striking red photinia and the new greens; birds returning to my rooftop. I have to remember it was only a few weeks ago that the trees were still bare, the world desaturated.
Now I tell myself, “But something was waiting.”
Today’s poem, like many of my vignettes, is a daily scene captured. It dates from 2018, but it could have been a spring scene last year or today. The clotheshorse, the scented candles, the linen drying and the humming fridge, they all remain.
That is no bad thing.
This poem is included in Jangle between Jangle, a collection of verse written while jangling to-and-fro across London during the commute in 2018, when commuting was still a part of work-life jangling. Follow BQ on the gram (@beadedquillwrites) and Facebook.
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