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I’m not a hothouse flower,
a rose with satin skin,
a blossom of waxy perfection,
here for merely a day.
I am a wildflower,
a perennial in an open field
that explodes
with perfumed abundance ‒
my essence
emerging like hidden fragrance.
I am a weed,
lithesome and supple,
sprouting free
in the cracks of a city sidewalk,
on the boundaries
of an uptown boulevard.
See me in the sunshine,
see me in the rain.
I’m not a hothouse flower,
I’m no man’s boutonniere,
and I’m not some shrinking violet
here for merely a day.
This poem first appeared in the Nancy Smith Exhibition Catalog, Chapel Hill, N.C.
Women Speak: Portraits, Poetry, and Prose of the Feminine Experience, 2019.
Used here with permission.
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Patricia Williams began writing poetry after retiring from teaching Art and Design. Originally from the Chicago area, she now lives in Wisconsin, eight miles from a village of 1300 and 25 miles from any place larger. Her work appears in many journals and anthologies, and she is the author of The Port Side of Shadows, a poetry chapbook about her travels, and Midwest Medley, which received an Outstanding Achievement Award from the Wisconsin Library Association.
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Anastasia:
This reminds me of Maddy Prior's song "Bloomers", which personifies flowers, a nice accompaniment to this florification of a person!
Posted 08/07/2021 05:37 PM
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Adriana:
Love the charming and amusing last verse
Posted 05/22/2021 01:55 PM
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TheSilverOne:
Love this! Good job, Pat. ~ Doris Bezio
Posted 05/21/2021 10:09 PM
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paradea:
Brilliant!! I love this poem!!
Posted 05/21/2021 09:03 AM
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