In honor of my great-grandmother, Elizabeth Sawyer, who raised the best mother I could ever have.
This week during the steaming afternoon
of a Delaware Wednesday in late May
my mother told me she hated the in-
between of spring and summer. “everything
is just green, there is nothing else,” but I
tend to like the various shades of green;
some deeply saturated in the shade
of maples, others pale and glistening
in the sun's glance. I noticed a sole gold
iris standing stoic and proud to be
the last of her kind this season. despite
such strength she possesses, she is always
positioned perfectly like a vintage
painting you might find in a northeastern
continental mansion. she beckons the
neighboring bees and insects to collect
their pollen; lapping up the light of the
sun like an overheated dog. she waves
This week during the steaming afternoon
of a Delaware Wednesday in late May
my mother told me she hated the in-
between of spring and summer. “everything
is just green, there is nothing else,” but I
tend to like the various shades of green;
some deeply saturated in the shade
of maples, others pale and glistening
in the sun's glance. I noticed a sole gold
iris standing stoic and proud to be
the last of her kind this season. despite
such strength she possesses, she is always
positioned perfectly like a vintage
painting you might find in a northeastern
continental mansion. she beckons the
neighboring bees and insects to collect
their pollen; lapping up the light of the
sun like an overheated dog. she waves
