Called to White, Finding Blue
Called to White, Finding Blue flower stories
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shhdragon
shhdragon Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
The barnside white iris- -es

Called to White, Finding Blue

The barnside white iris-

-es

dilute their lavender hues,

in the stark Summerwhite

daylight.

Clenched, bunched, they

offer blues; or are they purples?

Faint or shy or mute or slight.

Outstretching into white.

Dewdrop dappled.

Sun dappled.

Brilliant.

White.

Planlessly perfecting

multitudes of tryings

and aimings.

Called to the culvert -

there where the multiflora

rose has risen and had

more recently

fallen; well, been felled.

Called to the culvert;

South side of the barn on the North side.

There, where water runs unseen under

a paired and not apparent foundation.

The arrant white punctuates the

failing greens, the new-seen reds, oranges,

rusts, saffrons, yellows. The warmer colors

that yearly signal the cooler days, the colder nights.

Called to the culvert -

Where thorns had snagged,

where something crept and tangled,

where bunnies’d hid in their youth.

where daffodils had trumpeted Spring.

Where a groundhog had tested its girth in there theretofor

Untested pipe. The pipe which the workers had argued over.

“It is green.” “It’s definitely blue!” And on and on.

“Well, maybe a bluish green.” “I could see you calling it a greenish blue, but it ain’t green.”

And on and on.

And on and on.

Mild laughter, much thinking,

Macerating thoughts for hours, days, for years.

And on and on.

And on and on.

Called to the culvert -

The white,

wetted,

showed herself to have been some blue-like color

when huddled,

when hunched,

when scrunched.

when squeezed.

The iris, barnside.

Called me to the culvert, if not

Account.

The barnside iris.

The iris.

Iris.

White, Blue.

It’s all sky.

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