When Lilacs Bloom
The neighbor’s lilacs in thick
bloom, lavender and lush.
A thrush, startled
by mid-morning door-slam, darts
to refuge between blossom and branch.
I am reminded of Whitman’s
tribute to the dead Lincoln.
A pair who saw the world
not as a line to be stood upon
one side or the other,
but as a freshly born sphere — every slight turn
a bending lead to new arrays,
sunlight leaving shadow
neither black nor white
but an infinite arc of gradients — azure blue
to buttercup to Tuscan red.
Minds self-trained to absorb
thought the way their eyes
took in color, each,
if seeded in a meadow, sprouting
another stem, blade, leaf
that springs in shouting vibrancy
from the sphere.
Have I taken you a long way from lilacs?
I don’t think so:
behind the lilacs,
our neighbor’s tall ash
is luscious green and our red maple
a waxen
maroon, and, beneath,
grass green, yellow,
brown, and an intersection of city streets: faded-to-gray
asphalt, dirty-white curb and gutter.
See the world in all its colors.
Not just with your eyes,
but with all that pulses
in you.
When lilacs bloom,
bloom with them.
…..
This poem is from the book No Need to Walk in a Straight Line by Dana Yost (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/no-need-to-walk-in-a-straight-line-by-dana-yost/
Dana Yost was an award-winning daily newspaper journalist for 29 years. He is a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee. Since 2008, he has published eight books.
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