Memory and Her Muses Save Me

My phalaenopsis orchids Spring 2015.

Can Flowers Change Your Life? XIX. April 24, 2016

Sometimes I have to wait.  My desire to write
never leaves me, but other calls need answers.
This has been true all my life, but Memory
and her Muses save me.  Like my orchid
plant, She waits.  She can go through
summer, fall, and winter before She stirs
again to blooming.  Sticks become stems
again, and two new ones rise and soon
form tiny pale yellow globes.  Day by day
the globes grow larger, then hang down
their pale, one-eyed blooms.  Air feeds
them; light wakes them.  They ask so
little and give more than I expected, 
not unlike my Muse.  She, too, waits,
but when I read that phrase I wrote
twenty-six years ago: “I must put my
full weight on my writing,” I know I
must still do that.  It’s my promise 
to my own soul.  I’ve made time before.
Even when it seems unlikely, it’s 
always possible.  Yes, I will: choose
wisely, govern my impulses to attend 
to other than my true necessities,
clear space, rest quietly, take in
the world around me, and listen.

***

Drawing of Judy sitting by the Haw River writing poetry, used as cover for Russian translation of Beaver Soul.  
Mikhail Bazankov, artist. 1997.