Death and Pansies, Revisited


Each year I procure these cheerful little faces of newborn spring, brushed with velvet smudges, the simple sweet smell taking me down a flowered path to my childhood. When very young, I played with scoop and pail in sandy lands of nursery beds, where the earliest seedlings overwintered and hardened off to face a strange new world.

According to family lore, this is where my great-grandfather took his last breath, an immigrant from a war-ravaged empire who began a twilight rebirth in the land of his conquerors. I plant them by the front door to catch that inherited fragrance, to welcome in the newly budded breezes and fresh starts.

They found him in the pansies, already on his way.

NaPoWriMo #11

*I planted this year’s pansies today.

I’m writing a poem every day in April as part of NaPoWriMo’s celebration of National Poetry Month. Won’t you join me in poetry?


2 thoughts on “Death and Pansies, Revisited

  1. I like the image of you and the pansies together, seedlings all, preparing together for that strange new world. The juxtaposition with death is very touching, and certainly in the nature of flowers, which mark our comings and goings.

    “Twilight rebirh in the land of his conquerors” gives that sweet face of the pansy the depth of onlooker, the quiet witness. Very nice indeed.

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