When Do Poincianas Bloom? Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

When are the months of riots
For Poinciana blooms,
As avenues are covered
Like golden carpet looms?

I never could remember.
Years filled with musk romance.
There was no time to ponder
Or give earth’s gifts a glance.

The trees would flash by quickly,
Wild seas of fire red.
I knew not time nor seasons,
Nor where I lay my head

Time’s millstone soon ground heavy
As flame trees spent their prime.
Spring, fall and summers melted
As decades stole thru time.

One day I was abandoned
To darkened alleyways.
Among the tainted refuse
My hands groped birds of prey.

The largest one, a falcon,
Cawed clearly “You are old.”
My hands indeed were gnarly,
Skin hung in wrinkled folds.

“Oh, what a gift, ” I answered
And watched the birds take flight.
“The riddle has been mastered,
Why love’s no longer bright.”

I watched their flight and noted
A silhouette in space:
The Royal Poinciana,
With hints of orange lace.

This month is called September,
It’s just a name, I’m told.
My life unnamed, uncounted,
Except by blooms of gold.

I know those bursts of orange
Will always come again,
Unlike my tortured lovers,
Cursed with the force of men.

“When do they bloom, the flame trees? ”
I now have time to ask.
It has to be in summer,
In glowing heat to bask.

But wait. Does it then really matter
When seasons come, or why?
For life’s buds blossom daily
And petals daily sway.

I much prefer to relish
The rich fruits of a kiss
Once stolen in the moonlight,
When young love sealed its bliss.

May deep blue skies find solace
In golden blossoms knell,
While my life ebbs in colors
That only flowers can tell.