The Daylilies in my Garden

The daylilies in my garden 

are the rich yellow of mangoes, 

(which I know because 

    I am eating one, 

       slice by slick, ripe slice 

   from my blanket, which is 

     half-sun half-shade, 

      with my body, which is 

    half-clothed, half not 

    as the late June birds call & sing 

      in the birches & balsams &

      brushy red osiers 

    & scraggly willows &

   Juneberry trees, which are 

       bearing their own, unripe fruit). 

I am bearing unripe fruit 

& often (often!) lamenting 

at my barrenness. But I also 

bemoaned the all-yellow lilies 

    (Why did I never plant orange? 

       Why are all my peonies white?) Yet 

they are glorious in their abundance. 

I deadhead each spent blossom, knowing 

it will bring forth another. Maybe 

it is only patience I must cultivate: 

I am naked, nearly naked, 

surrounded by a richness beyond my own making.

Rose Arrowsmith, 2025