They Are Drawn Here in the Springtime
by Bruce Van Noy
For Mariel Hemingway
Perhaps they were orchids, as if Theodore Roethke
had been called here in the dead of night, drunk again
wandering into the yard through a broken fence, in darkness–
past the swing set, past the hammock, past the children’s
stray toys, past the plastic trays of daisies, and the small
carefully folded envelopes of wildflower seeds:
to the garden, planting orchids under the apple trees;
those loose, ghostly mouths: I am dreaming; she laughs, smiles.
My wife is planting flowers. But late that night, in the quiet
cool hours near dawn, smooth, delirious roses sing the delicate
dream of her skin to my lazy fingers; my hand touches orchids
in moonlight just dreamt, falling, and falling, and falling
through her long, long hair. “Orchids–”
“Yes–”
Bruce Van Noy was born in Seattle, raised in North California, educated in genetics and molecular biology at the University of California, Berkley. He studied poetry with Barney Childs at the University of Redlands. A former commercial fisherman in Alaska, and a professional ski instructor based in Ketchum, Idaho, he currently lives on Orcas Island, a few miles off the far north-western coast of Washington, and a stone’s throw across the water from Canada.