Applause

I cannot rattle off her name,
and so I look at her more deeply,
her elegant self as innocent of label
as a new thing in the world.
In her big clay pot,
she rises tall as me,
but drapes her stems and branches
in a loosely rounded shape.
Hanging from the stem tips,
purple blooms in bursting clusters.
Hummingbirds and butterflies
draw closer as do I.
Each perfect bloom,
smaller than my fingernail,
has petals, five,
in the shape of hearts,
each edged in lavender
and scalloped like a tiny shell.

I do not know her name,
so it’s being-to being we speak.
Our whatness with
no label in between.
How must I seem to her
when I walk away?
While I cogitate and agitate,
she waits serene,
growing in grace.
I only want to meld,
to feel her presence inside me.
I become her purple petals
curling courageous in the heat of day.
I long for rain on my leaves.
I become her message of scent.
Because I do not know her label
I can be her, I can whisper
endearments to her soul.

After I wrote the poem, I did look her up. Her name is Geisha Girl, not the patriarchal meaning of a hostess trained to entertain men but in the etymological sense: (Japanese, ‘from gei ‘performing arts’ + sha ‘person’.) A performer! And this poem is my APPLAUSE.

©Susa Silvermarie 2020