To shelter something wild
When the bees swarm
around the lavender
you gently shush them
as you carefully part
the branches to free
the dried stalks, still
fragrant when their day
is done. A hummingbird
drops down, then lifts
up in a whirl, draped
in a terpene cloak of
shrub & desert dust.
To shelter something wild
By Angela M. Brommel
Since 2013 nearly every plant I have added to the yard has died and been replaced at least three times with the exception of one five-dollar lavender bush from Trader Joe’s. Pruning lavender can be tricky. If you trim too much you end up with a bald patch. The woody core isn’t the beautiful part of the plant, but it is the center that makes new growth possible. The center is something different from the purple flowering stems, something older that has withstood time. Eleven years later this shrub stretches across almost the whole length of the front patio.
It’s grown so large that it has become a shelter during the hottest months for the animals that live in my yard and the park across the street. It’s also the favorite morning spot for so many bees that I can hear them humming when I walk by to the car or while I’m sitting on the patio with my dog, Emma. One bold hummingbird comes right up to her and hovers by her nose. This dog—who typically barks at birds, points at birds, chases birds—stays very still for this hummingbird. In this pause she changes her typical reaction to “bird” and has a new experience.
During my term as Clark County Poet Laureate, we have focused on how reading and listening to poetry creates opportunities for us to pause. Sometimes it feels like the world is telling us that being resilient prevents difficulties, and that strong people who have done all of the right things don’t experience loss and disappointment. But by definition, resilience is the ability to pause, adapt, and recover from experiences, not the ability to avoid them.
For the past two years, we have had conversations about envisioning a reading and listening practice that gives us the ability to pause and find joy. We can take a moment to engage with poetry when things are difficult so that we have a way to pause and remember (recover) that we have gone through hard things before, and we can get through them again.
Sometimes you are stuck in the woody core for quite a while. Then it's your time to rise over new blooms.
Angela M. Brommel is a Nevada writer with Iowa roots. She is the author of Mojave in July and Plutonium & Platinum Blondee, and she is the current Clark County Poet Laureate. Visit angelabrommel.com to learn more about Angela and her poetry.
Photos courtesy of Angela M. Brommel.