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The Blue Iris By Mary Grace Dembeck Email: MaryMary3 at aol dot com (above email address formatted to reduce spam) May 08, 2008 They grew, those irises, in our ragged little backyard in the city when I was a young girl — their gracefully cupped petals and trailing falls rising above most other growth nearby. We called that yard "our garden", but it was a wild affair: moonseed tangling with tea roses for supremacy along the derelict fence; basil, marjoram and mint in fragrant bandy by our kitchen door; varicolored morning glories and scarlet four 0'clocks riotously dividing up the day. But it was the blue irises — smelling so incredibly blue, (or so it seemed to my young mind), that have always lit my memory. We never tended them, fed or divided them, as knowledgeable gardeners would — we never knew we should, yet they grew for us year after year. About the author: I've been writing poetry all my life, ever since I was in the third grade. One day I just may surprise everybody and write a really good one. Meanwhile, I'll just keep writing poems because I happen to love doing it. If that's my only reward, it's worth it. :) | | | |
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