Marigold, You

a poem

September is a restart, right as the edges of everything turn bright. September is one stretching sunset, held even in a dense little package of petals. September is marigolds, cempasúchil, chornobryvtsi, gende ka phool. And September says everyone can co-inhabit their symbolism. Life from death, light from darkness, passion from apathy, creativity from stagnation, knowledge from ignorance. I’m stringing the dried blooms from a backyard in the Willamette Valley to Mexico, to Ukraine, to India. Do you see them overhead?

Marigold, You

Marigold, you formidable sunburst,

you raucous reclaimer.

Cempasúchil, you decorator of death,

you twenty-ruffled beacon.

чорнобривці, you sunflower sister,

you steeper of song.

गेंदे का फूल, you garlanded light,

you triumphing harvest.

Marigold, you glad companion,

you keeper, you radiant guide.

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Each month, I curate with my eyes and ears. Always welcoming suggestions.

Eyes:

• “An Ethnobotanical Perspective on Marigolds” by Mike Kohfeld

• Elijah Fed By Ravens, poems by Kristina Erny

• House of Light, poems by Mary Oliver

• The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver

Ears:

• Animal Poem, Anna Tivel

• “The Worst Thing that Could Happen,” Tyson Motsenbocker

• Jellywish, Florist

• “Returning to Myself,” Brandi Carlile

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