Here is the latest installment of Poet’s Corner, presented by the Edmonds Poetry Group.

Sunflowers smiling

I ordered seeds, lots of seeds, big packets, small packets of unique pansies, bulk packages of borage and hairy vetch; blue wildflowers, red sunflowers, purple petunias,

Nasturtiums that climbed, others that popped their happy faces in the worst soil even gravel.

It was a so-so year gradually filling in the tiny bit of dirt between curb and fence of the driveway. Ok to drive on, harder to rake with the slope. But better to break the hold of depression and sudden twilight as the sunlight passed quickly in the winter to those souls in the bottom of the cul-de-sac.

Our deeply dug-out spot allowing for a nest between Lebanon cedars and thick untamed trees marching down slopes too steep to manage on both sides. The front tall windows split the view of steep slope to driveway curb topped by hedges too thick to see through.

During the year of light boxes and 15 minutes of morning sun before make-up, I plotted and schemed to bring a mad mix of flowers to odd places.

A huge pile of dirt in the back was smooth and seemed too careless to offer help.
I raked and spread a large packet of seeds, saving the ordinary packet without a date in a loose pile in battered dresser drawer in the furnace room.

The winter over, spring rain and raking passed the time between zoom meetings with startled elders peeking shyly into other faces and discussing why we came here this time around.

Then the green stalks grew and pressed together too tightly to weed, and became hard to water or stake. Why deal with this unknown growth too much alike to not be weeded away?

But the borage called, and dahlias closely peered inside the basketball fence with climbing nasturtiums checking out the opportunities.

Then the winds and rains came so wetly and often enough I worked on other things and nearly forgot the sneaky buds that told no story of the possible outcome.

No garden or flower plan came to mind; I was too embarrassed to ask my gardening friends; the peek of yellow told no tales.

It matched the color of the newly painted front door. Remember the phrase from the song: “Here comes the sun”! I looked from the second floor and saw a field of smiling flowers.

I woke up each morning to see more sunflowers open with heads nodding as they showed off their centers big and small mixed in with a few other flowers.

Purple and magenta and some towering columns of strange blooms were easily supported by the strong determination of the bigger sunflowers.

After they had snuggled year without a sign of movement, they were not to be denied. I wake up each morning, look out the window and see this field of dreams*. These wild seeds gifted me a floral field, glowing even in twilight.

*Field of Dreams is a movie based on Shoeless Joe by W.P. Kinsella

Inez Taylor

~ ~ ~ ~

Swimming with a Mermaid

She swims long distances while

circling down the Atlantic Coast of Florida

around and up the Gulf of America stopping

to shelter in Crystal River Sanctuary waters.

The refuge is filled with ancient springs clear and fairly shallow.

 Looming reactors keep the waters warm.

Two thousand mammals may huddle in cold snaps.

The manatee feeds on grasses keeping the bottom clean

 dodging boats as best her slow movements allow.

A huge vacuum cleaner of the ocean who

seeks certain grasses to feed as they cuddle her whiskers.

I stand waiting in the springs, seeing her glide slowly

 nudging her calf up to breathe; so young this is it first task of survival.

Curious, she turns sideways against my shins, perfectly balanced

yet close to my fins as she helps her calf.

I hold my arms in a circle; she turns to rest her head for a chin scratch.

Japanese tourists film underwater keeping their circle very wide

 as we three souls love our moment of connection. That I was chosen,

 the only native Floridian there fills me with gratitude.

We spend an hour as the warm waters offer perfect views.

 The sun falls to its knees through the cypress stands rising out of waters.

Tiny fish swim so much a part of the current that they barely gleam in the spring

 obscured by the changing light.

Bubbles from the baby direct the 3,000 lb. mother to lift it once more

as it tries to find the surface. Finally, she sinks below the calf

 giving it a secure ride as she receives another chin cuddle

 and sweetly drifts to the bank blending into the deeper shade and shadows.

Inez Taylor

~ ~ ~ ~

Snow Moon

Only October and November reveal our own snow-

so thick neither sun nor moon are visible.

The northern tier bases in the Cold War

saw us sometimes putting mattresses on roofs

 to see the aurora lights all night.

We stood at attention as a pilot with engines on fire circled

round and round burning off fuel speeding up, slowing down,

Skills developed on 13 hr. flights at 200 ft. above ground

 to bring a behemoth B-52 safely down.

Most of winter I could don parka and bunny boots

lay on the snow outside the cabin wrapped in bales of hay for insulation,

watching the Milky Way while listening to rustles from the shelterbelt,

Any moon at all meant hard, cold weather.

The outhouse was ready January through February

when the cottage pipes froze.  So close to the Red River,

too cold to snow, as watchful moon against the darkened sky

holds court on the stars far from city lights.

Inez Taylor

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Inez Taylor is a local retired resident who is a member of the Edmonds Poetry group. She previously served in the Air Force in North Dakota then moved to work at Boeing. Inez is working on a collection of poems and a memoir.