Tuesday, January 14, 2020

Joan Leotta writes

Deadheading Lilacs
I did not brave August's heat
to pick off the now paper brown petals
once a profusion of purple blooms
spouted from my bush, a sprig
my grandma gave me.
So they remained, now spent, once
fragrant, now dull.
I missed my chance
to best secure next season's glory.
Now, I must stand shivering
in short days of coming winter
to clip off those old
shriveled blossoms
hoping that in the coming spring
at least some of
those  brown dry stems
will "set" with  buds,
sprout green leaves,
again, explode into a
cascade of color and scent.
As I clip those dried, scent-less husks,
I promise my lilac that when
when he holds forth again,
proliferating tight petal bunches,
I will visit in the yard and clip
to fill my house with fragrant loveliness;
to shape and prepare the bush for
next season's blooming.

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