At One With the Abelias

At One With the Abelias

I am “at one” with the abelias this morning,

clip-clipping with these old hedge clippers.

Good wood handles with sharp blades

like Moses, the handy man’s.

I could be right back in 1943 in early summer

hearing his clip-clip, clip-clip

outside the low kitchen window.

thin white curtains with

faded red stripes near the hem

blowing in the humid breeze.

The curtains hung from a flimsy metal rod

nailed into the wide painted woodwork of a

residential house built in 1905 in Atlanta’s West End.

A house in which abelias bloomed

every year in front of the porch bannisters.

and I am one with the abelias today

and with my past.