Agave schotti

Schott's century plant

Barbara Cully

 

 

Agave Maria

 

Where birds

listen intently

a garden gate stands amid a plain triganomaly.

 

            the oldest living life forms are chaparral

 

Note the house the agave Americana lives next to

stands two stories high, its stalk grazing the roof.

After the plant blooms it dies.

 

            the oldest living life forms are chaparral

            the oldest living life forms are chaparral

            the oldest living life forms are chaparral

            the oldest living life forms are chaparral

            the oldest living life forms are chaparral

            the oldest living life forms are chaparral

 

Where birds—

picture intently

a century plant in bloom every 25 years or so.

The way they reproduce, shoot, you can have lots in your yard.

 

Looking right down into it—its center writ large at night in half light or porch light

reconstructs the universal symbol of being under water or overwhelmed.

The well is dry? (Yes, quite. Thank you.)

 

The place where the swirl of a Cyclops or cyclone

            ends in a maelstrom of some vegetative persona vilified.

 

      Where birds

listen intently

the octopus [what got her] captured her

(listen)

its eye is telling

as much as the tiger’s.

 

Healthy century plant, the shoot begins:

 

            •growing taller by day,

            •a close-up of the stalk,

            •a hawk resting in the century plant,

            •filling out,

            •blooming,

            •close-up of the stamen,

            •then a torch-like bloom with a rain mark in the next frame

            •the gardener appears,

            •the stalk is cut & the body removed.

 

Next day,

we find the rhizome offstring rosette emerged

while the mother stood dying by behind the casita.

 

(When?)

That fall when no one came to the casa & the sea lavender when—went

on & on.

 

You know,

that place where the ocean waves roll ’n furl

& ice plant mounds in pickled firms & flurs

 

in the sand just there—

A god’s hand

(fibrous)

(mountains and rivers),

how dry it is.

 

 

~~~~~

Barbara Cully has two poetry collections forthcoming from JackLeg Press (Chicago): Under the Hours (May 2012) and Selected Poems (May 2013).