Moon Flowering Full
(for Marsha)


That this brown bulb holds promise of beauty
by virtue of white roots dangling from its base

seemed almost metaphysical to my mind,
having never before forced an indoor bloom.

Suspended in a vase of water & small pebbles,
as instructed, it was placed in the windowsill.

Can it know it will be neglected now, for weeks,
nine stories above the slowly-autumning city?

I am draped in miniature white lights; a string of one
hundred garlands across my shoulders & down arms,

is unceremoniously tied around unsuspecting waist. My
balcony will be decorated for a surprise party tonight-

Parisian lights in potted ficus, the guest of honor’s favorite
setting. But the string of lights has tangled mercilessly.

A phone call interrupts my harried unraveling; can you please
come into work? But the guests begin arriving in three hours, I protest,

throwing lights haphazardly across balcony ledge. Plus I was hoping
to score a date still for the evening. We have a client down, Mister.

Yeah I’ll be right there, I acquiesce. Resigned, I look over at the amaryllis,
how tall it has grown these past weeks, a large bud now formed

at the stalk’s top. It appears ready to burst open, patches of color-
peach, or apricot perhaps- within the fertile, green-sheathed pod.

Telecommunications- the transfer of data across phone lines- consumes
the rest of my afternoon. I will be loveless tonight for sure now, I ponder

between the yin & yang of tip & ring; ironic how the language of my
professional life centers around twisted pairs & coupling devices.


Hours later, the client’s network is again online. Back
home, I race to finish stringing the last of the lights;

Instead am witness to an exquisite betrayal; my amaryllis,
full-flowered, presents itself to me accompanied by pink globe

of full moon reflected in window, suspended in blue twilight.
Breath comes short in these pollen’d liaisons; I feel a flower open

inside me, and wonder- did moon force virginal blossom,a tidal pull
on vase; or has flower called moon up out of river with its trembling?

No matter.. time is short; trees are lighted, music cued-
Left Banke– the grand piano; guests & caterers arrive..

outside, moon sets behind river, flower closes to slow,
lingering perfume..

I had a date with a pretty ballerina.. just close your eyes she’ll be there.