The Design

Then there was the day He was seized
by the need for the tiger lily. Orange,
but not subdued. Not pumpkin or peach.
More aflame, though not oriole nor that rust
of red heads, red fox. Closer to koi
in those mysterious ponds. Yet not.

Red-orange for tiger lilies alone.
Each nodding flower, petals swept back
in a calligraphy of curls and curves,
trumpeting six stamens. That perennial—
native to China where they eat its bulb.

Not tiger lilies would be nice to have.
No, their necessity. If we'd never
seen one, how insatiable our craving.
The places we'd never go otherwise.

Copyright © 2006 Moira Linehan All rights reserved
from The Notre Dame Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission