A version of this poem was published a few years ago in Totem. It was written before we entered Iraq. Note the date. History is repeating itself...again these days. With sadness, here is my poem.
PETUNIAS
18 March 2003
by
D.M. Solis
Last night
the ultimatum.
We hold our beloveds
and wait.
Petunias in our courtyards
are fragile as the silence
nesting a child's prayers
these days.
Wind whooshes
hard ice
parting my hair
so my scalp stings
as petunias hunker down
in the stark light
of an azure sky that seems
too bright to be ironic.
Everywhere flower bursts
are pushed down
against the brittle ground
by a searing cold.
There will be horrors
and monarchs boasting,
dead sons and daughters
all of them ours
where even the petunias
will be drenched
in humanity's
shame.
Petunias in our courtyards
are fragile as the silence
nesting a child's prayers
these days.
Wind whooshes
hard ice
parting my hair
so my scalp stings
as petunias hunker down
in the stark light
of an azure sky that seems
too bright to be ironic.
Everywhere flower bursts
are pushed down
against the brittle ground
by a searing cold.
There will be horrors
and monarchs boasting,
dead sons and daughters
all of them ours
where even the petunias
will be drenched
in humanity's
shame.