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Johnny jump-up.  Lady’s slipper.
Jack-in-the-pulpit.  Knew
them all, didn’t you?
Knew you!
 
Little blue flower that to my shame
I forget how to name, never failed
to remind you of a Wedgewood blue
pitcher with six matching cups
you spied in a shop ‘long a Liverpool
lane.  Nose fogged the glass.  So
did Mum’s, didn’t it?   Sea-green
petals of a March bloomer took you right
back to the boat saved you and Mum
and Da from the shame of starving,
what with shipbuilders hurting
and a pub never far.  Blood blossoms,
you refused to blame for bringing
back the hurt of being torn by Da
before you were big enough to go
to school.  Nothing Mum could do
except sew you a doll out of rags.
Fell off the boat, didn’t it?  Drowned
in a wave this big.  Landed, a man
stole your name.  Lily isn’t proper,
bloke says. Answer to Lillian
from now on.  L-i-l-l-i-a-n.
 
All that washed behind
every spring.  Flowers loved
to grow for you, you for them.
Mum’s gift, wasn’t it?
 
One-room-schooled too little,
married too early and too long,
you survived by farming hard
on a shoestring and believing
the lord saved.  Tom thumb, hen
and chicks, bird’s foot, lamb’s
ear, snapdragon, black-eyed susan,
Forget-me-not!
 

(c) Phyllis Jean Green, 2007