Last winter we drove through a countryside,

Barely noticing the barren earth that

In spring would riot into tulips.

You pointed at the sign advertising a tulip farm

That offered seasonal tours

And said you wanted to come back to see

The peach-colored blossoms.

Orange Emperor—I learn the name later.

Fitting that those flowers come to mind

As a spray of peach blooms adorning your casket

Not twenty feet away.

The priest prays

And the congregation does their Catholic best

At silence and refrain,

Rising and kneeling in practiced perfection.

But all I see are tulips,

A whole field of Orange Emperor tulips

And you at twenty,

A small woman

With shoulder-length dark hair,

The ends wound in curls.

Your lips tilt into a smile

Impossible to contain.

You bend at the waist, reaching
For all the beauty you can hold.

(c) 2009 Maria Rachel Hooley.  All Rights Reserved.