Poem of the Day: “Indian Paintbrushes" by Ron Wallace

Songs of Eretz Poetry Review is pleased to present another poem by Ron Wallace, “Indian Paintbrushes.”  A brief poet bio may be found here:  http://eretzsongs.blogspot.com/2015/10/poem-of-day-eastside-boys-we-ran-by-ron.html.

Indian Paintbrushes

Ron Wallace

Flowers grow

          flickers of orange fire

dancing on green fields under Oklahoma skies.

Like weeds

          they hold to the worst terrain

and spread everywhere.

They beautify discarded Coors cans

and swarm beneath barbed wire

          filling empty cattle pastures,

piercing coyote bones

taken by the grass

on land where, long ago,

Choctaw and Chickasaw hunted.

Once,

as a boy,

I worked the roots of a handful loose

          from the rocky soil

across the gravel road,

running in front of my house

and brought them to my mother’s flower beds.

With all the care a ten year old could muster,

I replanted the fire

between the petunias and the four o’clocks.

But there

          among the tame flowers

                    soon

                              they perished.

“They grow wild;

that’s just how some things are meant to be,”

Momma said

as she watered her carefully tended garden

in the summer heat of Oklahoma.

But always

          without fail,

before she’d go back inside,

she would walk over to the edge of our yard

and look across the dusty road

          at the fiery red-orange blanket,

                    burning in the last light of day.

Poet’s Notes:  "Indian Paintbrushes" was inspired by a true story. My mother deeply loved all flowers, the wild and the tame ones. As a boy, I actually did bring some Indian Paintbrush flowers from a field and attempt a transplant in her flower beds, and she did tell me some flowers are meant to be wild to soothe my disappointment when the flowers failed to grow there. It would be years later before I realized the universal wisdom of her words. I never see a field of those beautiful flowers that I don't think of her; for that matter I never see a flower growing anywhere that I don't think of her. She was a huge inspiration for me growing up. I think I was one of her "wild things" that she loved.

Editor’s Note:  I like the poet’s use of color here, as well as the wisdom of the speaker's mother.  The story of the little boy reminded me of my childhood--a nice bit of nostalgia. TJMF Publishing in Clarksville, Indiana published “Indian Paintbrushes” in a similar form in I Come from Cowboys in October 2008.