Lilies: Love’s Opening
a long weekend in Clonakilty and a bunch of lilies rekindles memories and fosters love
At the florist’s in Clonakilty,
“Oriental lilies,” she said.
They’re the only kind that’ll open
in Ireland; like those inked glories
Olga gave to me in Paris.
They bloomed in no time madly –
Showed she loved me without tariff.”
A bunch is scented, selected, bought.
“Let’s see how these behave this week.”
She plants them closed in a teapot
Love’s pale green hopes:
Feeds them water,
More; first waking thin clitorises
Pushing showed through the whitening
Hoods darkly – “It begins, she says,
The revelation of life’s glory”–
Unrooted stems still thickening,
Echoes of a mother’s memory
Feeding this second fleeting sprouting
Past death as resurgent daughters.
Moon’s measure passing increases
The opening – the subtle unfolding –
Which lazy days and peat fires burning
Cannot halt. This second birth’s needs
Need just as much as the first – reeds
Dried, petals failing she nurtures,
Gently whispering…
then in raptures
This Lazarean bloom explodes,
Each bud, even the last stubborn two,
Of itself incarnate, arched unfolds
A proclamation of true love,
And I, in wonder, look upon them and her.
Hi B this appears to be a moment in time story. Not sure of the significance of Ireland, but that doesn’t matter, it’s a pleasant tale. The study of their opening is well described and charged with eroticism as you no doubt intended. I certainly think Lilies can appear more erotic than geraniums, but the way nearly all flowers open themselves to fertilisation could be considered erotic. However, I would rather see them as vaginal in the same way as certain fruits & vegs can be considered phallic. That doesn’t necessarily make them erotic. That emotion is surely down to… Read more »
A moment in time in Clonakilty, G. Time spent with the woman who I was to marry. And you are right; the emotion is down to the individual, and everything we see around, once we get past the conformity of schooling and language, is infused with the eye of the individual. At the moment I am in total agreement with Anais Nin that “life is a series of erotic moments, with the gaps in between the time when we’re asleep, and even then we drag the erotic into our dreams and nightmares as we grapple with the sensuous and try… Read more »