SURPRISE FLOWERS (FINAL VERSION)

(to my Grandfather, Milton Barkus Young)

I know it was in summer

with my sister and I

toddling through the backyard

where our Grandfather gardened

and explained the stars

the memory is flooded

with butterscotch light

and we bring him flowers

surprise flowers we say

in all their gaiety

or we tug him by the hands

to see. he also said we were free

to pick as many of them as we wanted

because they would always grow back...

look! here's another one.

perhaps they are fuschia pink or

tangerine or

peppermint striped or, all of these?

when I try to remember

mostly I remember his smile

when he told us they were surprise

flowers

and could pop up anywhere, you just never 

knew.

for long years I imagined they were wildflowers

but recently

thinking over the way he was, our Grandfather

full of stories that at the time seemed true

I realize those flowers matched the packets of seeds

in our utility kitchen drawer,

mixed flowers by Burpee

and after 70 years I begin to laugh

realizing that when we had early bedtimes

long before school had arrived on the scene

and when we were asleep

our Drosselmeyer Grandfather must have been

out in the backyard

up by moonlight when we wouldnt see

him scattering seed here and there beyond the

flower bed perimeters all over the backyard randomly

so that later he could make up that story

about the surprise flowers, how they appeared

magically

where you never would suspect them to be

and watch our glee

at his delightful mythology

blossoming and blossoming.

mary angela douglas 16 april 2023