Lorie Greenspan is a poet and artist residing in southeast Florida trying to keep herself and her plants cool during the broiling summer of 2024. Her poetry, including her video poems, have been featured previously in GAS as well as other anthologies and poetry journals. You can see her art on Instagram: @loriegreenspan; her video poems are available on YouTube: @LemonDropPoet.
A tribute to those who climb
Three Studies From Inside The Room
While Plants Try To Grow in Florida
When The Heat Index is 109
1.
If I were a garden I’d grow
texture out my ears, fluffy velvet
nostrils welcoming shade
my arms would be full hydrangea
a crush of petals
dried out just as pretty, dried out
still strong enough to stand solid in a vase
my face a daisy
my legs tall foxglove
curvy stripes of floppy green
dead all too soon
free of things that annoy.
We all have those flecks
we’d like to pick off ourselves but can’t, our arms
don’t extend that far, remember,
we’re hydrangea puffs,
soft as bubbles afraid to be crushed.
2.
Nothing as green ever breathed here.
Clamped tight, trapped in prison
wanting for water
grumpy from air-conditioned air
full-on fists seeking their space
then music floats through walls, and
makes their days steady in pulses
of rhythm light, enter
Bach’s soothing caress
these plants on stands
should thrive in summer
now behind shades cutting the sun’s glare
ungiving these walls but the melody of the violin
takes the air and plumps each breath, if only summer
were as forgiving
if soldiers could hear such music
there would be no war, instead
orchestras on battlefields
boots marching toward Bach
and his violin
in heat of summer, loneliness and anger
a riot of heady fists, all leaves await their time,
oxygen fingers and bayonets, not captured but four walls for a cell –
music calms
green nothings. Wait here, breathe.
3.
The bird
is a scream
from a mouth
darting
diving
from the light
pole,
who bleeps
at light
when they
need to see?
Who cries
in birdsong
when life
isn’t hard enough?
If birds
were vowels
they’d be
never-ending
oooooooooooooos . . .
a sound
the heart
makes
when
it’s done
screaming
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