Sunday, August 28, 2011

The Milkweed Maid

The milkweed maid
measures time
by the beats of butterfly wings.
She has her own tales of fleeting beauty to tell.

Her losses gather
like petals
at the base of an aging flower.
She knows the pain of fading slow.

Her treasure
is the clean sweetness
of a plum.
The ache of ripeness untasted is familiar.

She is a remnant of a passing season.
Soon, winter will have its way.

Submitted to Poetry Pantry

17 comments:

Evelyn said...

"She knows the pain of fading slow."
gosh, breathtaking...

Mary said...

Gulp! A truly wonderful metaphor.

Old Raven said...

Sweet ... but please ... please, no winter yet! ;)

Eric 'Bubba' Alder said...

Love that last line, Mama Z!

Milkweeds are so metaphorical.

Friko said...

NOOOOOOO, there's been no summer yet!

Still, I have to admit that although i don't like the message, the words you wrapped it up in are beautiful.

ab said...

Winter can bend me over the table and have its way. I'm sick of the heat! Beautiful poem MZ :)

Ed Pilolla said...

ripeness untasted, a universal pain...
damn good stuff, but you know that, at least you better:)

Brendan said...

Ah for this poor gossamer figure -- , "the ache of ripeness untasted is familiar." A bittersweet home.- Brendan

Cheryl said...

Beautiful and evocative.

unsungpoet said...

Truly sad and beautiful at once. I usually don't like to "retell" someone's poem or story by describing my interpretation, but this one really touched me: After all the hard years, heartbreaks and unrealized dreams, she is content to simply be breathing still, at one with all of nature, finding simple pleasures there and disappearing with the turning seasons...Close?

hedgewitch said...

I love the blowing seed poems. There is nothing that says mortality like a flower. The fruit motif is nicely handled, also. Good stuff, MZ.

ayala said...

" she knows the pain of fading slow"...lovely!

Kim Nelson said...

I love the truth of this... winter will always have its way...

Steve Isaak said...

Excellent, perfect verse-taling. =)

Fireblossom said...

I like the title and the whole softly sad poem. I'm so glad you made this blog.

Mike Patrick said...

Only a gifted poet would think of measuring time by the beats of butterfly wings. You had me in the first stanza.

haikulovesongs said...

"The ache of ripeness untasted is familiar."

what a luscious line! love this poem!
dani ♥