After Shirley Kaufmann

not gold but orange
hold up their heads
on green stems
in a glass water jug
standing on her tiled table

A woman sits at the table
the marigolds smile back
She reads a poem
whose lines zigzag
on the page without end stops

about a jacaranda tree
a jay in its branches
leaves that fall off
blue flowers left behind
a blue flowered aisle
of jacarandas

like the blue collanade
flowering in May
long after she’d left Funchal
like the woman in the poem
still holding blue
far from Lebanon