Heart
For years, her valves inflamed, she lay abed—
rheumatic fever. Games and playmates, banned;
no school; just lessons at her mother’s hand.
At times, she must have wished that she were dead.
There was no treatment then, no hope of cure,
save rest. What irony: a child’s disease,
already noted by Hippocrates.
What recourse had she but endure, endure?
She grew somehow, and managed to excel
in several ways, despite a damaged lung.
Her resolutions: always to stay young;
at work, in love, in friendship, do it well.
Above all, play. She gave it her whole heart.
For seven years she’d thought of it as art.
Aglaonema
A lovely genus, “Chinese Evergreen.”
Mine’s of the mottled sort called Silver Bay
—a little present from my friend Christine.
It has, she noted, feuillage panaché,
bicolored in this case. Set
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