Sunflowers
*
emile sits
staring at the
pieces on
the chessboard
he’s playing
white
and he’s losing
the rain
hits the roof
in a big wave
as he ponders
his next move
caught
between two
probabilities
for survival
forgets he
has left
the oldsmobile
parked in the driveway
with the windows open
it is
of course
august
the sudden gust
of wind from the rain
stirs musty air
otherwise motionless
in the sunroom
his right hand raised
his fingers diffident dipping
hesitating over the crown
of the queen
*
helianthus
salicifolius
the willow-leaf
sunflower
she reaches
eight feet
which is taller
than a man
a congregation
of them has lived
for as long
as emile can remember
along the uneven brick walk
to the old stone house
good friends these flowers
each year swaying
in the uncertain symmetry
of well-established plants
growing together
a long while
in a sunny place
whispering
kind words
to bees
clinging
to wet florets
in a storm
telling the bees
the secret of
where to
crawl
to rest
when the
season ends
*
the rain has
just one thing
left to accomplish
after falling
from the sky
all silver and white
on the short journey
an eternity
in the making
orange rays
reflect in the clear pools
disappearing as grass
just now
the water’s work
remains so close
to being done
roots slaked
clouded parted
each
helianthus
bowing
in honor
*
emile gasps
remembers
the car the
windows
jumps up
grabs a towel
rushes out
stops in the washed air
before the dripping flowers
uncharacteristically overwhelmed
by these giant awkward
drenched perennials
summer's wilt gone
staring back at him
later he
does not recall
how long
he stands there
immobile
immersed
beginning
to see the vision
the missed gambit
from a few moves back
knows the game is over
turns steps up again
to the porch
with its peeling paint
enters the house through
the rickety screen door
drops the towel
confident in the solution
walks to the board
and with
his wet hand
tips the king
offers to his old friend
to play again
