A low stone wall frames the patio.
We fill a dozen pots with flowers
To set upon the wall.
Inpatiens, Dahlias, Begonias surrounding the summer.
The heavy clay pots refuse to turn –
Refuse to give the northern petals face time with the sun.
We bought three light pots.
They sit by the side of their sturdier neighbors.
The bees –
Though I am sure they have noticed –
I have overheard the discussion –
The dahlias –
Not defiant –
Perhaps indifferent –
But no one –
Not even this gaudy butterfly who flirts with everyone –
Not even she –
Would mistake for terra-cotta,
These common plastic pots,
No one on this beach
Would mistake for that sunlit girl,
That decades-ago girl –
No one would mistake for that girl –
Long-limbed like Diana,
This loose-skinned woman,
This thick-waisted woman,