Drinking Honeysuckle in Palo Alto

Walking near Gamble Garden we came upon
Young girls hovering over honeysuckle blooms
Like bees, biting off tips and sucking
The sharp sweetness--drop by drop.

My just such girlhood pushed up from
Mind's bottom and fought for air:
Kicking and flailing to break water's surface
And beat off bully Time, whose fat palm
Shoved against my face until lungs gave out and
Memory dropped back like an old tire
Into the silt of Welika Lake.

For a moment, before we resumed our conversation,
I was overcome by humidity and the trickle
Of sweat running down pancaked legs
Blurring white shoes with hopeless longing
For Dr. Moore to stop praying for life after death.

[Poem by Virginia McKinnon Mann. June, 1993.]

Oleanders

The woman waters the beautiful but

Poisonous plants, grown tall in her

Twelve-year tenure, replacing the

Small picket fence which afforded

No privacy to the previous owners,

No romance, one might say, although

They were known to be a particularly

Harmonious couple with a golden

Harp in their picture window.

The present owner calls out to me,

Holding the hose to the oleanders

For we are in a time of great heat,

"Are you still writing?"

"Yes," I call back,

"Are you still breathing?"

Her oleander hedge grown so tall and lush
Reminds me of an Indian woman

Visiting California, who questioned

Why we would have oleanders in our yards,

This plant, so full of blooms,

From which in Delhi she has known

Despairing women to squeeze juice enough

(The pink or white flowers are quite moist)

To make a welcome drink.

[Poem written by Virginia McKinnon Mann in June of 1993. Photo credit: stoplamek on Flickr.]