And since, as my mom put it, “spring has sproingggged” at their house with the first iris of the season, here’s a smidgen of poetry I wrote a few years back in memory of my grandmother:
Iris Lover’s Catalogue
I see her tending her name-flower beds
In summers past beyond recall
And wonder what she would have thought
Of hybrid blues and whites and pinks
With names that sizzle, sparkle, sing—
Millennium Falcon, Abbey Road,
Hello Darkness, Pagan Dance—
Or if the same old purple stock
Would still have been enough for her.
Copyright © 2007 Elisabeth G. Wolfe. All rights reserved.