A New Flower

An old friend appears
At my door each year,
Bearing a flower for my table;
She stands humbly,
Fumbling with something,
Unsure.

She is like someone new,
She is a varied cast;
Her eyes grow deeper,
Her skin grows softer,
Each face is older than the last
Time we met.

Under my gable,
We exchange small talk
And years' worth of experience,
Listening
And speaking,
And the flower on my table
Has retired
And listens too.

Where she plants her garden
I have never asked the Lord;
And if I have asked,
I do not recall.

And if I asked again,
She would say it doesn't matter,
And it doesn't matter
Really
At all.

A new flower rests between her fingers,
Fresh,
Fragrant,
Succulent,
So alive I almost want to hold it
To my cheek and let it linger
Over my skin.

The customary invitation
Is followed by beverage
And heart to heart
Coversation about
What we've missed,
What we've learned,
All the things we wish we could change.

Futility.

Once, we kissed.

Once, we simply sat in our chairs
Around the table
And watched the petals fall
And the clock
On the wall as it ticked
And each other's graying hair
As long as we were able
Before saying good night,
Both a little disappointed.

And once we argued
Over the nature of our universe
And the origin of our souls
And who's annointed,
Who's unannointed.

And once, I think she told me
About the new flower,
And I don't think I listened,
But I remember just the same.

Now, they're all lame
And drooping.

From what soil
Was this new thing derived?

This lovely thing that she's brought for my table
In crystal stands like God's own angel,
In my hands lies
Frail,
Unstable,
And too beautiful for my eyes.

What about when it dies?

Will it feel the sun,
Will the wind fill its lungs like great sails,
Will it read Yeats
And Nietzsche
And Jung,
Will it live until its life is done,
Fall to sleep beneath the midday sun,
Rock until the night in great fury
Dispels it?

What is the nature of this new thing?

Does it fade between my fingers,
Does it bloom only to die,
Does it contemplate the universe,
Does it shiver and clutch for a flannel blanket,
Does it struggle,
Does it sing out,
Does it cry?

Will it die?