Poetry in motion

Poetry in motion

Early morning, as the sun lightens the air
And a gentle breeze skims my skin,
The yard and gardens are my dance floor.

I whirl from one to another
And tears spring to my eyes
As I pick brown paper-bag leaves that blow in the wind
While dangling from the dogwood and Japanese maple,
Or tied loosely to the azalea, the clematis and the holly.

Each frond bears haiku
In the squid ink calligraphy of
Elegantly curved letters
Snatching moments, impressions
Of a two-year journey
With leukemia.

A warrior’s fortitude and heart.
Love and loyalty from family and friends.
Plants and animals’ healing part.
A miracle bag of crimson.
Legacies of insight and wisdom.

These spring tendrils of remembrance
Commemorate survival and wonder
And celebrate the abiding love
Shared by one generation with another.

This poem’s inspiration: The smooth envelope formed an off-white square against the pale yellow tablecloth on our kitchen table. It lay there, waiting for me to rise from bed and walk down the stairs. My name was on the front, inscribed by an elegant hand whose distinctive flow I recognized immediately. A note from my godmother always brought a quick smile to my face. But within a fraction of a moment that curve in my lips gave way to a furrow in my brow. My godmother lives 800 miles away, yet the envelope wasn’t addressed or stamped. It must have been hand-delivered. How did she do that?

Curious, I lifted the envelope only to become more puzzled. On the backside was a note written in a different handwriting, one belonging to my friend living across the street. How did that envelope find its way to my table, with the marks of two women close to me but who have met each other only in passing?

The mystery deepened when I read the note’s content. It cautioned against opening the envelope until I found all nine surprises awaiting me outside. My early morning mind was spinning, unable to connect these disparate, unexpected bits. This confusion propelled me to open the front door and walk out into a beautiful early dawn.

The sun was just warming the air, a light breeze was blowing across the yard, the pungent scent of freshly lain mulch filled my nostrils, and the birds were singing a loud welcome to the day. I stood on the front step eyeing our front yard as if I were the captain of a ship scanning the waters for any sign of movement. And then I spotted it. A brown paper rectangle dangled from the dogwood tree, moving fluidly in the breeze.

Rough, cream-white butcher’s string kept the paper leaf loosely tethered to a thin branch. When I reached to untie it, I felt like a child picking fruit from an apple tree. As light as a feather in my hand, I gazed at it in wonder. A haiku, in my godmother’s beautiful calligraphy, drizzled down the front, its end closed by a glistening red wax stamp. Short lines, commemorating a moment from my long journey with leukemia.

As I glanced around, I noticed more paper tendrils, all fluttering in the breeze. I flitted around the yard and gardens, picking brown paper leaves that moved against the bright pink of the azaleas, the dark greenery of the clematis, the red merlot of the Japanese maple. Each contained its own calligraphed jewel created by my godmother memorializing the long road to my recovery from leukemia. Soon I had a small bouquet of coarse brown stalks, exquisite in their rough beauty.

My eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude and awe as I returned indoors. Reaching for the envelope, I felt free to open it and discover its contents. A touching note of love, from my godmother to me. My husband said he found it tucked inside our front door when he arrived home late the night before.