Thursday, November 1, 2012

Memories Of Amaryllis

Red Amaryllis 3, 6 x 6 in. oil on museum quality panel, ©2012, Fay Terry

I am watering my newly planted bulbs in great anticipation of having more gorgeous blooms like this one from last year. My mother always had Amaryllis blooming in December when I was growing up which is probably one reason they are so dear to my heart.
 I am so in love with these flowers and I recently came across a poem that I liked by Connie Wanek.  I hope you will like it too.


A flower needs to be this size
to conceal the winter window,
and this color, the red
of a Fiat with the top down,
to impress us, dull as we've grown.

Months ago the gigantic onion of a bulb
half above the soil
stuck out its green tongue
and slowly, day by day,
the flower itself entered our world,

closed, like hands that captured a moth,
then open, as eyes open,
and the amaryllis, seeing us,
was somehow undiscouraged.
It stands before us now

as we eat our soup;
you pour a little of your drinking water
into its saucer, and a few crumbs
of fragrant earth fall
onto the tabletop.

1 comment:

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