FLOWERS FOR HIS GRAVE
FLOWERS FOR HIS GRAVE by Lesley Traynor
‘Their flowers, the tenderness of patient minds’ Anthem for Doomed Youth, Wilfred Owen
After he left with the thrum of war in his heart,
it was planted.
Before winter sent its tendrils, slender fingers drilled
a path
through blood red earth, dropped the seed into the
unknown,
hiding it from those who would steal its life. Each day
she spoke
to it of love, encouraged it to survive, prayed for roots
to seek
sanctuary, hold onto the tear sodden earth. Time was
measured
with caresses along green shoots, the swelling of her
belly.
Buds sought the growing light, turned to face south,
opened
to hear tender words read from hasty notes carried
on a salty wind.
In another's land, ravaged fingers drilled down through
the bloodied earth, his promise to hold onto life
broken.
A sapling that would not reach its height. Scarlet
petals from
a blown flower travel east on a wailing wind,
her hand held high in salute.
Flowers for his grave.
Photo by Peter Dargatz
