We saw wild iris on my honeymoon, green stalks with blue blossoms jutting Out of rocks and crannies in Maine’s unforgiving soil—then we remarked

Upon how beautiful they were, unexpected also—later, we planted them in Our first yard, transplants from a neighbor’s bounty—and even they did not

Do well under my watch—I was petrified about taking care of anything alive Like a plant or a child—I have yet to believe I can be a real gardener—so

Much of what I toss in the ground does not sprout, but with poems it is Different—now I find myself aching to say what I feel, to mean what I say,

To stop and notice a midnight Iris on any given day—and they say the root Iris comes from a Greek word meaning rainbow. The ancient stories held

The Goddess ‘Iris’ was the messenger who traveled on the rainbow between The lands of mortals and the Gods. Here in North Carolina in early spring,

Purple Iris have already sprung luxurious—and I remember what I thought When I was young—how I was idealistic and headstrong, believing any

Problem could be solved, if only I could work hard enough—and now I am More sanguine, though perhaps coincidentally, also more joyous in the

Living of my days—I have discovered more there than I thought possible. As I Stopped to spot the purple irises gracing the forest, I remembered this

Shade would saved to be planted on the graves of women to summon Iris and Guide them towards heaven—hence the Iris flower is the symbol of

Idea and message—Iris to earth, Iris to heaven, Iris to hell, Iris in beauty, Iris in Dismay—the name contains both the symbol of idea and message, the

Conversation and the fruition, the pistons waiting for bees to fertilize them Again and again. Recently I learned the Iris is both the February birth

Flower and the 25th wedding anniversary flower, neither relevant in my case—and yet, somehow I knew what I was doing more than a decade ago—

When I arranged a dozen white iris in a glass vase, I suspected my days Would never be the same after that moment in March—and I was right,

Although I did not imagine it to be true. Later now, the iris is gradually becoming fuller And more beautiful than the wild ones in Maine—during

These days of beginning when all I imagined: love, hope, trust and Happiness are all here—just for the asking, for one purple blossom.