If an iris exploded in bloom every time it released a belly laugh.
amethyst, amber, auburn, cerulean.
If the petals of that iris rocketed and shriveled by the sun.
or by music, or eye contact, or by the flick of a smile.
If the other irises followed it in wonder, then exasperation, then adoration.
then forgot they were following her.
If the iris could remember what her ancestors remembered.
fields of never-ending splendor, sunrises and sunsets, the smell of dew.
If the iris asked the other irises what sound they would be, given the choice.
and the other flowers replied that they all wanted to sound like irises.
and the iris asked what an iris sounded like.
and not one iris could answer.
If the iris combined all the sounds she’d ever heard.
trills, bleats, whooshes, gravel-tones, wails, whimpers, whispers.
the slow whine of wilting.
If the iris heard the slow whine of wilting.
and all other sounds would stop.
2 Responses
Stunning. I love the textures in this; how you layer sounds and colors and emotion. But what I take away most from this poem is the feeling of empowered leadership. That by being your most real self, you encourage others to do the same, which creates a field in which you grow even stronger.
One of my favorite parts about posting my writing is that each reader is able to have such multifaceted perspectives on my words. I LOVE your interpretation!