Image via AlaskaFreezeFrame on Pinterest
By Annette Marie Hyder
They grow everywhere in Florida
chorus lines of guitar necks with velvet frets
wearing Marilyn skirts forever rising in an attitude
of windblown that lifts and flips
the crinkled silk they wear.
They get drunk on rain
their soaked heads nodding
in color so lavish it seems like an affectation.
They lean casually after the storms, their skirts spread
to dry in the sun, pink and packing a Ru Paulian surprise
and so soft, so sweet, so ballerina even
in their yellows, reds and blues, their oranges and whites.
We wore them casually in our hair
tucked them, like petaled pencils,
behind our ears in absentminded fashion
heaped them on top of dressers in bowls of water
and in our bath
floated them like candles
burning with color instead of flame.
We substituted them as umbrellas
in our fancy drinks
scented our lips with hibiscus
(a fantasy accord) in doing so
and carried petal promises
to each others lips when we kissed.
We took our waving sea of every day, everywhere hibiscus
for granted. We loved its beauty even while looking elsewhere
for new visual delights. And as is the case
in so many instances of this kind
have only come to appreciate our common place
once it is left behind.