Flowers for my Son By Rebecca Stark

Flowers for my son.

A piece of advice…

Son, Be careful on this journey

not to tread on a cyclamen bed

for we’ll surly never see you again.

But go…

Run away from here, your mother’s home

And pick yourself some Fir

To bring back to your wilting father

Ridged like your grandpa, in his old age.

I have tucked some white heather

In your chest pocket, keep it close for luck.

I’ll be here waiting like a purple hyacinth

For having seen you go

But when you return dear son

I will have the first spring’s flax, for you,

I have carried a single tea rose

In my garden hat

And now I can let it go.

Flowers for my son.

I have carried a single tea rose

In my garden hat-

Since my son left on his journey

Through the cyclamen beds.

I told him,

“We’ll surly never see you again.

But go…

Run away from here, your mother’s home

And pick yourself some Fir.”

I had tucked the white heather

In his chest pocket,

to keep close for luck.

And half expected to pick

the first spring’s flax, for him.

But no…

Many winters later

and I-

Am still waiting like a purple hyacinth.

Reflection: During our whole class workshop it was brought to my attention that the poem sounded like a mother who had lost her son, and this was her coming in terms or talking about her waiting, or still mourning about it. I really didn’t think much when I was writing this story, but in this new draft I had decided to take a more sensitive approach and really delve into the mother’s head and draw out the situation. I rearranged a few of the lines, got rid of some and add what needed to be added as well as give the poem more of a shape.

Flowers from son.

My son still hasn’t returned from

The cyclamen beds.

I half expected the first spring’s flax to fail

And the tea roses to bloom

Like weeds on the lawn.

But never after many winters

Did I imagine I would still be here

Waiting like a purple hyacinth.

I’m sure he’s lost the white heather by now

And the fir I tucked away in his breast pocket

It’s only a matter of time before I receive

Poppies in a letter to home

Reflection: So we say a softer side of the mother in draft two, I wanted to see how much would change if the mother was almost disgruntled or angry that her son has not returned yet. And give her an almost, I told you so kind of attitude. I prefer the second draft, it’s much more powerful, this one seems to have lost all sympathies and the attitude is very blah. The ending now needs work there is a bad transition between the last two stanza something I would correct in my final draft.

Flowers for my son.

The first spring’s flax has failed.

The tea roses bloom

Like weeds on the lawn.

And my son,

still hasn’t returned from

The cyclamen beds.

I fear he has lost himself

In the jungle of fir

And dropped the white heather

I had given him for luck.

But as a mother I sill wait

like a purple hyacinth.

For the poppy letters to home

Reflection: So I went back to a more sympathetic character and it’s much stronger this way, because I expect the readers to connect to the narrator better. My Intent to this poem is: To wait for something/someone who isn’t coming. I wanted to stay true to this intent from the start, I had a very clear image of what I want for this portfolio piece, and though I still think it needs a few more revisions my vision is still in view and I think that this piece can be evolved into something very powerful.