Blossoms, by Mary Kay Delaney

No. 8, by Bradley Walker Tomlin (USA) 1952

 Blossoms

deep gray rumblings churn 

under torquing 
onionskin
and gentle shards 
of silk 

while blooms 
of linen

tumbling, 
carry twisted 

pink light
 

In the gallery, the plaques say
the collector called 
these exhalations
Blossoms

An article says
the artist (did he go by Brad?)
sought perfection 

which begs all questions
about form and beauty 
and exquisite edges
of terror and light

and brushstrokes
viewed from safe houses
oceans away

or words and sounds
read from safe house
decades beyond


If squares are blossoms

They are perfect petals

blasted from cratered
gardens;

they are blooms

of woven bed linen

mutilated in morning light


strewn mid-air
where words and sound
twist and choke

bandages unraveled by sound

silken handkerchiefs torn

pages ripped 

from countless holy books


Unreachable

by hands in dark earth,
mourned not mourning,
blast-crumpled or
sculpted into stillness,
arrested in desert rubble

From his safe house
the collector
called these squares
Blossoms


If they are blossoms

they are perfect petals

blasted from cratered gardens 

shredded linen blooms 

unraveling shards of silk

silent sinking paper


fading into pink and twisted light

Mary Kay Delaney
 
After living half her life in North Carolina, Mary Kay Delaney, educator and poet, moved to Denver, CO where she lives now. She has served as a Professor of Education at Meredith College and a Visiting Clinical Professor at the University of Denver. She holds a Ph.D. in Social Foundations of Education from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She is the co-editor of Professing Education and a 2021 graduate of the Poetry Collective, Lighthouse Writers Workshop, Denver, CO.