Comehither Peace - Michael ann O'grady Leaver

[Lawrence Robinson]

Comehither Peace


It was in the spring, my garden
having a party of its own, poppies
being orange and silky, the dogwood
in her little petticoat of white, the ixia
and sparaxis vying with flounces of pink flirtation

It was there I spied the yellow plastic cover
of the morning paper and just when I thought
I could, I could not write, as I could not bring to myself
the way words of peace torn from their delicate plantings
had become words that describe

Not the open mouth of the lily
calling out in throes of passion
but the words of old men gnarled
thin branches beating thin trunks
old bones resonating old rage the drumbeats
of a collective war where death does not
promise renewal and the circle is not growth

This morning in my wordless way
I started again by starting small
I recited flour and sugar milk and cream
I added willing hands to stir the words
in the recipe and the words  I cannot find 
to bake desire into a kind of nourishment 

As I took the silent seedlings from the back porch
seedlings filled with the beginning of greenness
I took them and I planted renewal and promise,
singing Wildpretty and Calendula and Comehither
and Peace Peace Peace

	- Michael ann O'grady Leaver