Let me blend into your parlor
Your hard oak floor
Brown, tan, muted blue
Tapestry rug, shelves heaving
With old curling books
The hanging vines around your
Picture window,
The aimless cobble stone path
In your backyard
With its splotches of tiny
Purple flowers and spots
Of yellow and red bell tulips.
Pick me from among
The green and put me
In that clear glass vase
Like those long stems
Of wild flowers that bloom
In your garden.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This reminds me of The Yellow House on Tucker Avenue, as women we weave our souls into the homes that we dwell in, dont we?