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Phyllis Jean Green

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Every Spring Passes
by Phyllis Jean Green → (All Poetry by Phyllis Jean Green)
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Every  Spring  Passes
 
Daffodils marched around the box where she lay.
Daffodils climbed a makeshift trellis.  Daffodil
yellow spilled out of wicker.  Daffodils crossed
and curved into hearts.  Their pollen yellowed
the dust the preacher kept saying she was going
back to.  Daffodils have no smell whispered.
In the backwater church where she lay not moving
or saying a word about the awful pink dress,  
daffodil musk mixed with five-and-dime perfume,
hair grease and the salt from tears.  Too much
wood and rows of dusted-off hats.  Irises
were from a neighbor's yard.   More blue
than purple.  She liked purple best.  And me.
The big rose spray with all the white stuff
the woman she ironed and scrubbed for sent.
Her mother worked for the woman.  Her mother
like a mother to me.  Her sobs hurt my eyes.
No way out I could see.  Child moves wrong,
people see.  Only time.  Her mother saw the good
in us.  Pretended I, too, was the apple of her eye.  
Now she was bent.  Tears were adding dots
to the dots where daisies once splashed
her mended, mismatched skirt.  What an ugly
casket, someone said at the viewing.  Girl
lighted up a room, let me tell you.  Good who die.
The Sickness had pitted her skin.  So pale.

Whoever was in the box was smooth as cream.  
Someone painted her orange.   Pink and orange
clash  with yellow, wood-brown and air grey
with steam.  Too early to be this hot.   River
carries in the smell of fish.  Only 21, only 21,
only 21,  buzzes fly-like behind fans with Jesus
on one side, rules on the other.  No one told me
you could die.  Sudden trip back for a funeral.  
Whose? I asked.  Hurry, Mother said.  Have to
wear your Easter outfit.  On the bed.  Keep
it clean and carry the purse I bought.  Get going.
I forgot the purse was on the pew.   Yelped  
because it hurt when I sat.  Long ride back.   
My nose was stuffed up and I couldn't breathe.  
Fever hit that night.   Tonsils, the doctor said.
Have to yank 'em.   Say it is pollen now.

 

For Patty and Mouse
(c)  Phyllis Jean Green,  Summer, 2006
            All Rights Reserved


 

 


 
 

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 Reviews of "Every Spring Passes"
Reviewed on July 17, 2006
A deeply touching poem, stunningly beautiful,
B&R

Reviewed by Regis Auffray
Reviewed on July 14, 2006
I feel quite at a loss for words, Pea so I shall simply echo the sentiments of those who have commented before me. Thank you for sharing this offering. Love and peace to you,

Regis

Reviewed by Paul Williams
Reviewed on July 13, 2006
Fantastic write Pea, how sublimly beautifully you convey the imagery of such a sad event. A really cracking (that's good in England lol) piece of work.

Paul;-)
aka Sparky

Reviewed by Aberjhani
Reviewed on July 12, 2006
EVERY SPRING PASSES captures not just the flow of events and qualities that comprise a life but the sublty magical environment of nuances that give individual existences so much meaning beyond the boundaries of Self. Stunning work Ma'am.
Aberjhani

Reviewed by Carmen Ruggero
Reviewed on July 11, 2006
You are truly gifted, Pea. From daffodils to the choice of dress -- choice of colors, to realization of death, this poem is packed with emotion and visions of a painful event. You haven't set one wrong foot on this one.

Carmen :-)

Reviewed by Taylor Ryan
Reviewed on July 11, 2006
This is fantastic...the characters are alive...the memories of a confused child so apparent as she is shuffled in between preparation, sadness and the tangible realities of death. This one is just filled with coloquial imagery at it's best.
Taylor~

Reviewed by Tinka Boukes
Reviewed on July 10, 2006
I'm sorry for your loss!!

Love Tinka

Reviewed by Dale Clark
Reviewed on July 10, 2006
So very sad Pea! I am sorry also for your loss.

Reviewed on July 10, 2006
Saving this heartbreaker, Pea, so compellingly and emotionally penned. Well done, I'm sorry for your loss.

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. :(

Reviewed by Mr. Ed
Reviewed on July 10, 2006
Thoroughly sad, profound, and extremely well penned, Phyllis.

Reviewed by Peter Paton
Reviewed on July 10, 2006
Pea
I have read this three times, and it is utterly tinged with sadness and contemplative reflection...
Only the good die young..
You are so unique in your inimitable style
Love
Peter

Reviewed by SHERRY HEIM
Reviewed on July 9, 2006
This is quite an image rich poem, Pea, I felt as though I was standing next to you watching it all unfold from behind a sheer gray curtain, squinting my eyes to see just a little more clearly. Wonderful write!
Take care,
Sherry

Reviewed by Marcia Duning (Reader)
Reviewed on July 9, 2006
Very nice


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