In the delicate spray of a spider lily

a memory of your tongue on the tip

of impossible words, Lycoris radiata’s

short-lived bloom posed itself in lilting

tropical stamens, heavy with clipped

nuances of red. An airborne anemone

the spider lily appeared to wink behind

a Dali- curl of whiskery petals, defying

the nervous bloodied look in your eye

as you approached its naked slender stem

with newly sharpened secateurs.

That September in Mississippi

spider lilies dropped their petals

when you took my hand and offered

me a freshly severed flower.