Prescott Flowers

When your arms unfold lanceolate,
My chest spirals
Fibonacci. We die into seeds.

Will you sit in the small boat
With me and row to sea?

Mourn the bees?
Notice the world is a stem

For what we want.
You too are a stem.

Most days, our rayed heads hold
Fragile yolk,
Scheming a beak, wings.

in response to Les Barta’s photoconstruction, exhibited at the CACE Gallery of Fine Art in Spring 2015:
Prescott Flowers Image

2 Responses to “Prescott Flowers”

  1. eduardo says:

    “My chest spirals/Fibonacci….” Yes! Love this line, love its image.
    And…oh, the dream-hope of what follows.
    (By the way, I delight in these recent CACE-inspired poems—how you’re combining these two worlds of your, who don’t perhaps get to spend much time hanging out together.)

    • wordweed says:

      Thanks, Eduardo! It is fun to walk in both worlds at once. I wish my readers could see Barta’s images up close to notice all the subtle visual metaphors. It’s funny; at the opening, I spent a lot of time talking with gallery guests about how I interpret the possible messages of his imagery, but that intellectual analysis is actually very different from where these poems took me. How I love the way poetry can bypass the analytical mind and take us into the unchartered visceral.

Leave a Reply