Pressed Flower Poem by Bill Galvin

I gave away or discarded lots of books,
Downsizing…
Novels, ancients,
Biographies, philosophies, poetries,
Down-casting, uplifting,
Deep and light-hearted alike.
It's hard to part with old books;
They mirror who we were,
And are part of who we are;
Defining us like a photo-journey of time,
Like a map of how we got here.
The few I saved sit on distant shelves,
Or lie in plastic boxes,
Out of sight and mind and manner.

I pulled one out today -
A big heavy one depicting cross-sections,
Showing the inner workings of things.
I never saw the stem sticking out till now;
About mid-book,
I open it to find a large dried flower…
A three-inch wide rose bloom,
With perfect petal definition,
And leaves still attached to the long stem.
It was probably forgotten for over ten years,
Tucked away in those books we keep
On our shelves until we, or someone else,
Are forced to deal with them;
And now time sends a subliminal hello…
A yellow rose from her garden…
A gift for this day arrived,
Sent from the another shore.

Summer 2016