I'd missed it in the digging.
It lived through two hard winters
Its thick ugly root, an ankle underground
Pushed up a spear, then another
Unfolded emerald chalices, ready to bloom.
Silly tropical thing, shading rightful lavender.
I didn't bother to dig it out but
Neither did I wish it well.
When he rides his bicycle
He hits it with his palm.
Its leaves are tattered. I haven't asked him to stop.
You are facing me and we are talking
and neither wants to be here
In this particular moment
Sixteen years calls a familiar tune
For this awkward pas de deux.
It's the wrong time to say it
But knowing me, you do.
Look behind you, turn around slowly.
She hangs before the canna's lip
Up, back, dip, probe, kissing deep
Wings backlit, fanning flame.
This ill-timed beauty, this misplaced grace
Survives our best attempts to root it out.
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