Experience

I will not speak about the greens
Painting the sky with varied hues,
I will not draw rose thorns
To try to show you
Or talk of the riot
Of violets and blues,

Quietly, I will close my eyes
And experience this with you,

Where you walk unseeing
Yet surely between soft lines
Of lavender, its scent a guide
As, after you, I’m wheeling,
Watching, letting you decide,

After all your days of gardening
The instinct is still there,
Taking your cues from textures
And the charted perfumed air,

White roses, you know them,
You used to grow them
Near the apple tree
On land tilled by your fingers
Into past Springs’ strawberries,

You tell me by a quiver of breath
Of how it felt to dig those beds,
Your brief smile says you’re there again
In this garden,
Where I roll beside you

As pollinators buzz and flit
Towards the island in the path,
Wind teasing our hair,
Suddenly, we halt and laugh,
Mirth jolts up from who knows where,

I tell you of a bench beneath
The roses’ sphere where bees
Whisper of nectar in ciphers
While we taste the sweet
Of afternoon embers,

Here we will sit,
Thanking the hands that grew
A place we can enjoy together,
I will close my eyes
And experience this with you.

Antonia Sara Zenkevitch

This poem is prompted by a wonderful blog by Sue Vincent who offers writers inspiration with her #writephoto challenges.