Natal Song

My iris swell with spring
and so I pray for rain,
lest the usual heat snap
truncate much-awaited blooming.
I cultivate each rhizome
and curse pernicious snails
beneath the sharp, smooth leaves;
vernal prima donnas,
reluctant residents
coaxed out of semi-desert.
And as Enchanted One supersedes Charisma,
and Moon Journey defers to Malaguena,
I snap heavy, dripping stalks--
Elisa Renee, Painted Pictures,
Clear Morning Sky--
exquisite as their naming,
for you who would have loved them,
the ineffable for the insensate,
April on eternity.

Diane Bradley

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