Yesterday's Poem

Here's the poem. You may recognize the camas.

[Eta: Still tinkering]



No Ideas But in Things


i.
 
The landlord’s son ranged this
Thicket of bonsai
Around my front door.
 
The kid had two concussions
In six months of hockey.
They had to pull him out.
 
Now he's taken up acting,
Played the Boy in Waiting for Godot.
The bonsai grow as they like.
 
One's a pine, long needles.
Don’t know the species.
Maybe it's spruce.
 
Nine inches high, gap-toothed
As an ancient goalie
Tiny shudder of percussion when it storms
 
Dots and dashes
Of needle and leaf
Mark out a path in negative space.
 
One day they'll clear it all away
Or I'll move, and I won't remember
He played hockey, the drums, or the Boy.

Not even important
To me, these
 
Awkward little figures
I trip over in the dark.

 
ii.
 
Wild roses and buttercups
Arise again in the park.

I crouch down to let him read the smells
On the stone, awkward monument
At knee height
 
Press my fingers hard
Against intaglio letters                      
Welting forms in reverse

iii.

DOOTS ECNO HCIHW NOPU

He expresses a pungent opinion


iv.
 
The field of blue camas nods, nods.