Tish Eastman

The Gardener

I was a Pansy-shy Wallflower

My eyes lowered to cool earth

Then you came, Marigolden-haired

Corn Cockle bold

Snap Dragon brazen

Your Tulips dripped promises with sweet Baby’s Breath

Irises reflected my longing

You wooed your pink Naked Lady

With coiled Trumpet Vine embraces

I was singing Morning Glory, Sweet William!

Then you left, uttering 

Forget Me Not, My Flower of an Hour

Deep Violet remorse

He loves me not he loves me not he loves me not 

Daisy plucked bare

In time I stood again, blazing, Torch Ginger-emboldened

My eyes upraised to Wild Rose tomorrows

So come back, my Calla Lily lover, so I may tell you 

What I have learned 

About soil and fertility

And what you can do 

With your Aster and a Red Hot Poker. 

 

Jacarandas 

Jacarandas in purple

Like a procession of kings

Draped in rich ostentation

But dynasties fail

Unappreciated blooms

Drift on Sleeping Toyotas

There Is A Season

The final train hissed into the station

the red-lacquered engine

reaching its last destination 

I stepped onto the platform, alone  

The Summer Palace was nearly empty

women allowed their children to play 

in a garden newly fragrant with Spring

as if there had been no war

In the kitchen a feast from long-ago Autumn

had been abandoned in panicked haste

dusty mounds of gray-green mold

tossed out, the waste regrettable 

We worked as strangers, in silence

a Chinese woman hefted an iron pot 

glaring at me, unsmiling

I backed away, ashamed of my fear 

But I had seen such atrocities 

it would be long before I trusted again

I was called three times, before I would return 

by an ancient man who outlived many wars

Later we few sat together

around the freshly scrubbed wood table

savoring fragrant half-filled rice bowls

as we planned how we might survive 

the coming Winters