Morning Glory, by Deborah Bacharach

Blue Morning Glories, by Georgia O'Keeffe (USA). 1935.

Morning Glory

This flower's like floating 
on the moon, drifting in and out 
of dreams. I am a little afraid 
of  all this space to be myself.  

From behind the petals, I see 
draw strings and scaffolds,
the magician's hat. I would have 
preferred uninitiated awe.

Nuclear weapons scare me still 
even though Reagan is dead, the bombs broken 
into pieces we could carry in our pockets. 

O'Keeffe said she would make flowers so big 
New Yorkers would have to stop and see 
what she sees in flowers and we all know 
what she sees in flowers, the delicate opening 
fold upon fold, the pink blush, the way 
the shapes stretch to glory.

Today O'Keeffe would do set designs for Gaga.

I got older, slower, sadder,
came down from the clouds and found 
acid rain falling. I have less hope 
than I did before. I feel the dark unfold.
O'Keefe might say we are smaller than we know,
the world more gracious. 

Deborah Bacharach

Deborah Bacharach is the author of After I Stop Lying (Cherry Grove Collections, 2015).  Her work has appeared in Pembroke, Arts & Letters, Cimarron Review, and The Texas Review among many others.  She is an editor, teacher and tutor in Seattle. Find out more about her at DeborahBacharach.com.