New England Asters

By Lynn Ascrizzi

They’re firing purple from the rock wall,
shouting hurrahs amid gloriosas,
towering on leggy stalks
near the rose trellis, before the frost.
 
The dames are taking over.
Fringy and sticky, drunk with nectar,
they lean and swagger,
staging a revolution.
 
Volunteers from last year’s seeds
spring up near the house,
and new forces bivouac
down the long dirt drive,
ready to occupy the roadside
past the mailbox.
 
Shovel in hand, I am fully enlisted
in the cause of late bloomers.
I transplant rootstock,
shake out new progeny,
post ensigns amid the wan and cheerless,
marshal troops down desolate hollows,
seed my universe with stars.    
 


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