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White Flowers

By Leonore Wilson

PROMPT—Privilege ...

In the foothills of May, these wild ones, long lost

lovers, racemes of floral

buds, water-tight, grass like and a few sisters

canary yellow; illuminative

and oracular it was to see them as we walked

meteorically with our grown son

and wondered what they were these creamy white flowers,

funnels of bloom, cups,

chalices, snowy stars; and did it matter, their names,

golden nuggets or checkered lily,

did it matter what bird the somber brown one hid its song

in the flumes of buckeye, blooms

amicable pink; wasn’t affection in the walk of non-restriction

as if we were California

aborigines in Saturnian days thriving happily along the shadow

margins of woodland streams,

remembering what Emerson said that beauty is its own excuse for being.


Leonore Wilson has taught English and creative writing for over 20 years in the Bay Area. Her work has been in such magazines as Upstreet, PIF, Quarterly West, Iowa Review, Madison Review, and more.


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