What if there were a hanging flower so redolent when you walked by you had to stop and push your nose into its yellow heart and the garden and birds and your mother's chitchat would be overcome by a memory of lemon cake served at your 4th birthday party, or the afternoon you stood at the edge of a path to the river in early summer and sampled the deep red salmonberries growing there, or a moment under a red blanket in Alaska in a longhouse full of smoke, eating bannock spread with warm honey, or a kiss in the middle of a community hall when you were twelve, the boy's checked shirt smelling of sunscreen and tic tacs. And what if your mother found you like that, arms hanging face uplifted, and cupped your elbow to guide you away, stumbling a bit brushing petals and pollen from the sleeve of your coat and from your cheeks a dusting of gold.
This is one of my favourite poems about my youngest daughter, Yvonne. There are many as she came to us late in my life and during a time when I was writing a lot of poetry. This piece was after a visit we made to the Bloedel Conservatory in Vancouver’s Queen Elizabeth Park. We would go there on really bleak days and walk among the flowers and bright coloured birds.
Nice place