The Magic Kingdom Japonica my grandmother would say of the blooming tree white and pink and fuchsia with no leaves. Not magnolia or tulip tree Ignoring the genus for the sound of it The color of it, in spring Japonica sounded elegant. Forsythia and jonquil and hydrangea Like a foreign country Where faeries made their beds In the moss mounds under the trees Daffodils are yellow. The silly, bold ones, My grandmother would say. Jonquils Said in a breath like magic, forgetting they were the same Those are the pretty ones. The forsythia erupted every spring Streamers of bright yellow or garish, glorious pink Waving like tentacles at the entrance to the drive Catching the eye and making drivers slow down My grandfather buried nails below The hydrangea turned blue every year. Magic spells and potions Buried in the earth. The magnolia was bolder, dark green. White blossoms that waited till May Unable to compete with Japonica Her exotic, flashy cousin. Japonica my grandmother would say, and pet the long forsythia fronds like cat's tails Never bring them inside, they bruise and turned brown. But you can dance beneath them. Not cutting plants, japonica and forsythia. Hydrangea and jonquils could be worn like wreaths Carried in bouquets to appreciative mothers. Who love daisies and dandelions just as well. My grandmother would stand and smile In the spring when all her familiars Gathered round and showed her What they had been working on all winter. Japonica, forsythia, plum and peach, pear and maple. Like old friends. She greeted them and they called to her, "Come see! Come see!" Japonica, I say to my own backyard and smile and add in Alta For the little star shaped pinks I don't know the name for. Her name will do.

all poems © 2004 v.a.watts