Op/Ed Poetry

Poetry: The substance of things hoped for

The Rose of Sharon

and the Trumpet Vine

are always the last to leaf out.

Everything else is green —

has been since the end of April.

The lilac has already set its blooms

like tiny clusters of grapes

and its valentine leaves

are large enough to flutter

in the morning sun.

The tulips are in their glory now,

vibrant and bold,

lifting open mouths

like baby birds

to catch the food

of rain and curious bees.

Beside them, the daffodils

droop their heads

as if disappointed

that their time of blooming is done,

offering humbly

only what they have left to give —

a tall bouquet of twisted green blades.

And all that is left of the scilla and crocus

are long, green strings

annoyingly splayed out

taking up valuable space in the garden,

their beauty nearly forgotten now,

which once elated my heart

that had waited so long for spring.

But the Rose of Sharon

and the Trumpet Vine tease me

as if they are trying to look like

those dead branches of the rose bush

which will need to be clipped off

or the remaining stalks of daylilies

that I neglected to pull out last fall.

The Rose of Sharon

and the Trumpet Vine —

I think they are in cahoots.

But I know what they are up to.

I know that it won’t be long

before they can’t stand it anymore.

Not able to hold their breath

one second longer,

they too will burst out.

And I’ll laugh and say,

“Aha! I knew it all along.”.

Suzanne Rood


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