An image came forth while I was looking for something else that rounds out this poem very well. The precise image of what the poem is about. Sitting with my Dad January 1969. I was 11 years old and he is in his fifties.
Upon the wall was a painting
Simply framed of a Yucca plant
My parents’ home enfolded it
Hanging on the living room wall
always smiling at me
The artist’s hands painted
it upon a wild hill
I looked at it all my life
From babe until the painting
Was stolen away after
my parents’ death.
It had a constant white bloom.
Curiously I looked
at the flower many times
I am sure it sung me to sleep.
The Yucca is a wild plant
Growing along
The aromatic California
coastal ranges
further into the valley and hills
Tall thin and tenuous
boldly spread throughout
valley canyons.
Yucca calls us to our
nobility of character
Yucca calls us
to a wild uniqueness
Singing if you listen quietly
A hum older than we know.
-Holly D Cornell
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