Blue Irises

My dad turns a lightbulb into place

After teasing that I can’t.

I ask him to show me;

He puts back the shade

And turns on the light.

Ah, I see.

I pull a bulb from the abundant autumn garden:

An odd onion, no evidence of color,

I rebury it across the yard,

Praying for the sun to do his work.

Irises, blue irises, arising from the spring garden:

I bring a bouquet to my dad, sick.

They are dead in a day.

Buried now, I only see

Irises, blue irises, laughing when I

Change the lightbulb;

Mine crying when I see them bloom,

Praying for the sun to do his work.