Violets
Violets
Among the common blades of grass
a wink of purple
a tease
to draw you towards
the violet’s
bearded monkey face
gaping at the sun.
They grew by my grandmother’s front door
which even strangers never thought to use.
My grandmother died.
They sold her house.
But here beneath my feet
a violet winks
and I am back
beside her canvas shoes
stooping
for a closer look.
Happy 11th Day of National Poetry Month! That means it is also day 11 of my backyard treasures project. This week I wrote about: a wall, hyacinth crumbs, the rain, a sweet gum ball, half an empty hickory shell, the color green, and violets.
For more Poetry Friday visit Michelle’s blog birthday bash at Today’s Little Ditty.
© Elizabeth Steinglass, 2014, all rights reserved
Oh, my. That one just grabs my heart and takes me on a journey to another time and place. Well done, Elizabeth!
Beautiful, Liz! I appreciate how this poem takes my hand and leads me into your precious memories.
I love that this flower, “a wink of purple” can transport you back to your grandmother’s home. Powerful poem, Liz. = )
Beautiful, Liz – I am so drawn to violets when they spring up, and here I am connected to your/my/our grandmothers, too. Many thanks.
Violets are everywhere in NC! Love the way this unassuming flower draws you and the reader in, and takes us back to a shared memory.
I love those canvas shoes–so like grandma. Great poem. thank you for sharing.
I just returned to my old house last week & saw the violets that I loved so. I need to plant some here in my new garden. Your poem reminded me. The canvas shoes, that term, really takes us back. I see Joy mentioned them too. I love your backyard writing, Liz.
My own grandmother neither grew violets nor wore canvas shoes, but your poem has transported me to her doorstep nonetheless. Thank you.
Lovely Liz! I did love picking a small bouquet of violets as a child to bring home to my mother
Lovely poem, Liz. I used to love to gather a small bouquet of violets and bring them to my mother who would put them in a very small vase on the windowsill.
The flowers that take me home are iris.
Your poem is beautiful! I love the detail of the front door no one thought to use. That says so much in a few words.
Lovely! Especially like that last image of the memory of your grandmother’s shoes.
What a lovely tribute to a memory. And what a glimpse of beauty amidst the ruins captured in the photo. Thanks for sharing this.