ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JENNIFER RUSS graduated in 2003 from Yale College, where she studied poetry with John Hollander and Langdon Hammer. She practices meditation and plays a nineteenth-century violin. She works as a psychological research assistant and volunteers at a crisis line; but she might like to become a teacher or a psychotherapist. She remembers, as Rilke said, to live the questions.
JULY 2010
FICTION
POETRY
BOOK REVIEW
PHOTOGRAPHY
The Yellow Iris
By Jennifer Russ
For my mother
At April’s end, a rainstorm swept the last
White petals from the seedling dogwood tree,
A native species, which was planted gratis
In our front yard, in your memory.
Winds blew the cloven buttons of the blooms
Clear out of sight, but left nearby, untouched,
The old iris bed, where tall stems rise above
The detritus of twigs, leaves, and seeds, bunched
Up near the curb in messy little heaps,
As if the street had been swarmed by a troupe of toddlers,
Whose fingers are crying out now for hot water and soap,
Who later will have hot soup for their supper….
They’ve left alone our irises’ pale skirts,
Which blush deep mauve in the bluish evening light.
One flower has unfurled all in buttercup,
A light yellow glow that defies the waxing night,
A lantern of love that will shine on and on, soft but bright.
Published January 2009