Arrogant Magnolia,
ARROGANT MAGNOLIA,
the first to open all, poised ten feet above our fuss.
As far as she's concerned... well, she's not, is she?
Her splendor cows me.
On this Tuesday morning I feel aged, dry, critical, although
I've used my potions.
Slept badly. Awake at 4 a.m., 5, 5:30. Sweaty.
And I feel short.
“Arrogant” comes to us via Old French from Latin— 'claiming for oneself', from the verb arrogare.
Soon the fraying, browning, finishing. Disarray happens.
An old record plays. Mother and nuns scolding:
“No one likes a complainer.”
“Wipe that look off.”
My bright dog's done her business and here the poor bloom (soon to die) is again. The magnolia deflects my murky sensibility. Flowers, leaves, trunks, weeds, grass—all of it—brush me off.
Of course.
Home and somewhat smoothed, despite the visit
from my scolds, despite the niggling moans from death.
Speaking of LIFE! *
Distills the remarkable from the ordinary.
Gary's right.. wheat, chaff, separation.
***
Beautiful poem, Nonnie. "*"
This is simply fantastic -- love it.
What Gary said.*
Your voice is so unique. Love it. *
*
I feel as though I know this. *
"Disarray happens."
Couldn't agree more!
Good poem, Nonnie!
Good title.
Great job Nonnie. I like the details and the pacing.*
lovely, sad. Just great.
*, Nonnie. Lovely. Playing off the magnolia works so well. I made this a favorite last night, but forgot to comment..
Nonnie, you capture the splendor and mundane quality of the regular cycle so wonderfully.
despite the visit from my scolds, despite the niggling moans from death
breathtaking.
*
The poem went somewhere I wasn't expecting. Love that.