Flowers

My older brother Ryan moved to tennessee a few years ago for a career opportunity. He took a chance, and it paid off. And although he has experienced career/financial success, he still can't seem to shake a wicked bout of homesickness. As a member of his immediate family, I can say that we have made valiant efforts to visit as much as we can.

Unfortunately, during a trip down there this past March, my Mother's dog was hit by a car. We heard the news only a few hours after our arrival in good 'ole Nashville, Tennessee. Poor Yogi was a young boy. He was a healthy dog of only two years in age. And he just happened to inhabit a particularly sweet and sacred spot in my mother's heart. Needless to say, the trip sharply took a sombre tone. The next afternoon, we (my mom and I) decided that we needed to soak up some vitamin D pronto! So, we bought some sandwiches, gathered our art supplies, and headed for the nearest public park that Ryan knew of (despite the years he has spent in Nashville he has remained stubborn, and refused to accept that this is home- so he has yet to master  the local landscape).
When we arrived, we settled upon a rocky (but adequately comfortable)  area beside the modest, man-made lake that proved to be the main attraction of the park.  My mom was sad, and it seared through me like a butter knife that had been recently microwaved (unintentionally/accidentally). She talked about her puppy, whose life had been cut short for no apparent reason. She talked about her childlike disappointment at the very notion of having pets. "It's part of the deal, I guess. You just have to expect to lose them. It's not fair." she said.
It's hard for me to relate to a sentiment like that.
It may seem cold, and emotionally detached, but I have always understood that unspoken agreement with pets. You will outlive them- if you're lucky. Hence, you can't expect a happy ending to the relationship. You will see them perish. Whether it is a premature death or not, you will see them perish (again-if you're lucky). But, my mother and I are very different creatures. I too loved Yogi, but more importantly- her pain resonates intensely with me. I can feel what she feels. Mother and daughter relationships are a bitch that way ;)
So, I wrote this poem for her (and her love of flowers)......
I consider these words to be the flower upon poor Yogi's grave:

Flowers for Prince Yogi Schwarma: 

Daff-o-dills,
Bring cheap thrills,
Roses just turn up their nose.

Violets bleed;
Carnations concede,
to each flimsy breeze that blows.

Daisies delight
with petals of white,
lilies sing so lovely and lilt.

Orchids romance,
a tropical dance,
One wonders- oh why must they wilt?

The answer you see,
I said to the tree.
Their grace is a flicker of time.

Each lilac's perfume,
to waft through my room,
hits my heart, with a soulful chyme.

xoxo