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(1932 - / New York / United States)

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Prosody 101

When they taught me that what mattered most
was not the strict iambic line goose-stepping
over the page but the variations
in that line and the tension produced
on the ear by the surprise of difference,
I understood yet didn't understand
exactly, until just now, years later
in spring, with the trees already lacy
and camellias blowsy with middle age,
I looked out and saw what a cold front had done
to the garden, sweeping in like common language,
unexpected in the sensuous
extravagance of a Maryland spring.
There was a dark edge around each flower
as if it had been outlined in ink
instead of frost, and the tension I felt
between the expected and actual
was like that time I came to you, ready
to say goodbye for good, for you had been
a cold front yourself lately, and as I walked in
you laughed and lifted me up in your arms
as if I too were lacy with spring
instead of middle aged like the camellias,
and I thought: so this is Poetry!

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003


Read poems about / on: spring, poetry, flower, dark, time, tree

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Comments about this poem (Something About The Trees by Linda Pastan )

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  • Dan Tharp (3/4/2006 1:30:00 PM)

    Yes.... And this is poetry! Nice work, Linda.

    dan

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  • Anna Russell (2/20/2006 3:45:00 AM)

    Beautiful. There is so much more inspiration to be found in life that in the rule books
    Hugs Anna xxx

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