Blue Became Her
Perhaps, because it was the colour
of her eyes, that blue was always
‘so very her’. Lavandula, and Iris,
Grape Hyacinths and Love-in-the-Mist.
How she coveted her grandma’s vase
of swirling zaffre glass...Adored
‘lazy-daisy-days’, as she called them,
on her squeaky wooden swing...
hand-painted blue, naturally...
plotting the skittish, orange line
of a hoverfly, flitting in an out
of the unfolding, folding sky.
By and by, she’d sow her seeds,
saved from last year’s, in the borders
of her cottage garden; Speedwell,
Globe Thistle, and Forget-me-Not.
Music too, she loved; coaxing the blues
from that silver-tongued, soprano cornet
of hers. Those same old refrains, dripping
through my mind, like honey off a spoon...
and wherever she is right now,
she’ll have an apron-full of flowers...
ridiculously, ubiquitously blue,
calling down that sweet, night rain.