Roses for My Grandmother
The gardens of her mind where she most
Amidst all useful fruits and grains,
Were fair pavilions raised beneath sweet
Like breads, like cookies shaped to lily for a
She, planter, gardener to a palace—Solomon’s
Endowed such monuments as in me echoed
My hunger satisfied, my eyes in brimming
With spring through all the year my single
But useful, useful: that one blade
Of grass, that only leaf, that carven apple
never went astray.
Always and by magic turned to worshipful
Such tribute made one child a prince; made
me that prince.
Thus at the finish when a winter grew
Like death into the orchards of her time,
I brought her useless roses of a luxury
She never understood but lay in reckless
We wept for love of beauty, she and I,
And in her thanks there was no bread or
A perfume filled the kitchens of her soul
Where even thorns were beautiful to her.