An old one

The daisy facts made me remember an old poem I wrote. It related to a list a friend gave me explaining the Victorian "symbolism of flowers" There was a whole list: a tulip, especially a yellow one meant deception. Foxgloves indicated infidelity. Accepting a flower with the right or left hand expressed a positive or negative response to a suitor. Hibiscus indicated desire; pansies, suspicion; daisies, dissembling. It was a very detailed code that everyone had to understand if they were to cultivate or give flowers. I found it  amusing as well as poetic.

The Symbolism of Flowers

Eyes of day, white-petaled

dissemblers. He loves me-loves me not,

with all those tactile promises.

And in their midst, a tulip

as yellow as a caution sign.

So much for the symbolism of flowers.

I carry my cuttings inside

and tell myself if he reaches

to take them with his right hand

that means yes, the left means no.

But he doesn’t look up from his copy

of Car and Driver.

In my youth I tucked pink hibiscus

behind my ear to signify

an amorous mood. In time

I pinned forget-me-nots

over my middle-aged heart. Lately

I cultivate pansies and suspicion.

I fancy he has slipped on foxgloves.

But perhaps it is just indifference.

I might be telling the story of a man

who fell asleep in a poppy field and forgot

the lover he was, maker of cardiac cadences.

We continue. We have a license.

I head to the kitchen in search of a vase,

an informal one for simple stems.

There my two-faced daisies litter

the tile in a mute heap,

rendered silent by a single bud.

The language of flowers may be obscure

      but everyone knows what a red rose means.