Amaryllis
The scaly brown mass rests just over
the water, its roots submerged
like the tentacles of a jellyfish afloat
in a shapely tank of ruby glass.
I observe it closely, hoping for a hint,
some secret of transformation,
but Hippeastrum does not yield.
Then, suddenly, one day there is green,
and it rises ever so slowly over days
and weeks. I watch the tip, which seems
about to burst, but it, too, takes its time,
opening just as slowly, revealing one
tightly clasped blossom at a time,
until one day, there is a burst of fireworks—
deep ruby or ghostly white, a Monet mix
of pastels, or a giant peppermint candy
of red and white. It is nature at its showiest,
but it is also a kind of miracle, the brightest,
most festive display of color emerging
from something drab and seemingly
impenetrable. I do not know the secret,
but I keep my heart open, and wait
for its slowly rising green to emerge
and show me colors I can only imagine.
Development
Perched on a lamp post outside my office,
a hawk stares at the vacant lot
that, just days before, was its home.
Pines and oaks came down to make way
for the latest clinic, and the hawk
sits for hours—for days—with nowhere
to go. We watch it as long as we can,
and join in staring at the space
that once held masses of black-eyed
Susans and tangles of blackberry bushes.
The hawk, the squirrels, the rabbits,
the cardinals, the finches— all displaced
without benefit of notice or court date.
Days pass, and finally, the hawk leaves.
We wonder where it went, and as
we wait for machines to mow down
the last vestige of forest, a stand
of monarda bursts forth like violet
fireworks–nature’s last defiant show.
Diane Elayne Dees is the author of the chapbook, ‘Coronary Truth’ (Kelsay Books), and the forthcoming chapbook, ‘I Can’t Recall Exactly When I Died.’ Diane, who lives in Covington, Louisiana, publishes Women Who Serve, a blog that delivers news and commentary on women’s professional tennis throughout the world.