People from another planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy
the whole time to have such things about us. —Iris Murdoch

Hello again, sweet morning primrose
at the parking lot, dew drops in rice grass,
I am in love, I am with you, day
flower, deep blue morning
glory, goldenrod, globe mallow, mullein.

From somewhere people in expensive suits
intrude, how they negotiate how far
we can within reason poison each other
for profit, allocating blame elsewhere.

Asters, let me stay focused, fireweed, fuchsia,
goldeneye, small red morning glory, open
chalice of joy, and a tiny yellow flower
whose name I do not know, eight sunray petals,
close to the ground, while I feel tender

Some bloom only a day and don’t worry
about clichés or repetition or how to market
themselves, or for that matter how
they would affect the world economy
and whether anyone notices them or not.

Cosmos, mountain parsley, desert honey
summer concentrate in marigold, orange
yellow peas, wild carrot, bear grass, white stars.

Sometimes it is hard to breathe as I try
to balance your joy with that unyielding
other world of tension, suspicion, and greed,
with war around the corner even as I live
so far undamaged.

Silverleaf nightshade, milkweed, field
mustard, penstemon, Indian paintbrush,
moss on north faced rocks, and fern,
crimson, magenta, dayflower blue, keep me
a while in your wild cradle of joy.

By Beate Sigriddaughter

wildflowers growing along path

Beate Sigriddaughter, www.sigriddaughter.com, is poet laureate of Silver City, New Mexico (Land of Enchantment). She has two poetry collections forthcoming in 2018 and 2019. “Wildflowers” tied for grand prize in the 2017 *Desert Exposure *writing contest and was first published in its October 2017 issue. Photo by the author.

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