TODAY I’M LUCKY I WOKE UP
Today I’m lucky because I woke up.
First thing I started thinking when I was ten,
my mother’s brother, Boston Manufacturer Lou
showed me around his garden from his newly purchased estate on Massachusetts coast.
This might be fun.
It’s hard to remember any special detail,
except, I was enthralled with an oversized rock garden on a hill looking at the Atlantic.
Pink flowers were planted low in clusters,
funny how certain things stick.
For practically always,
there was a flag pole with rocks around it.
The next I remember about him,
is he came to see my mother in the hospital.
I learned he was rich.
His entrances were grand because several sniveled around him.
I suppose sniveled because they wanted to be noticed by him.
My mother was going to die.
Of course, I didn’t know exactly what was happening,
I think she was suffering every way you can picture,
I think her brother told her he would look after me,
I think that was a wonderful thing for her,
it’s lucky for her she believed him.
I think she loved me like mothers and families do.
I think I just don’t remember anymore.
Then I recall,
how many missed landings I had until I met my husband.
My husband’s strongest suit was he was great with cancer,
I mean my cancer.
He went to a school named Cherry Lawn,
really, that was a real name.
He knew about Sherry Lewis who made up Lamb Chop.
He made his puppet story when he needed it to run cancer out.
His cousin died of cancer.
He wouldn’t t let more come.
He wasn’t strong in certain areas, but he was with cancer.
I already said my cancer.
The garden theme stuck.
My first date with David happened at Roger’s Gardens in Newport.
He bought so much to plant,
window boxes really tight, bushy, full and surrounding me.
I was surprised about the planting,
about having all my own low clustered plants,
about someone who was into water cans and all you need to grow.
He told me,
“I love a certain species on California highways,
so I lifted some for my garden and now yours.”
I answered, “I’m so puzzled how I met someone who likes plants like I do.”
“OK,” he said,“ but don’t forget to water my plants.”
Well, it’s a theme for a journal entry.
It happens in cycles.
I made my own garden now,
it’s alley furnished,
it’s a boho corner into a garden of colors,
it’s like Maine,
it’s like Newport,
it’s like Talavera,
it’s geraniums in Neuilly in straight rows,
like geraniums tumbling in Pont Aven,
Ii’s like Rock Garden Inn
where I was supposed to learn to paint like Janet Fish.
I know I’m not Janet Fish.
But I love to plant plants.
It’s like garden of Eden
Where Adam called his companion Eve.
I’m not much of a Bible person,
but I know that was a story.
I know my garden story.
A lot of poets wrote about gardens,
you probably heard of Wordsworth and his daffodils,
You get my drift now?
I’m a lady of dandelions.
No ashtray collection left over.
No note slipped back of a sofa.
I’m blowing wild with the wind.