The Iris and the Stone
by Karla Linn Merrifield

It is said that love must grow
up like a wild iris in the fields.
Having seen the vibrant ones of Alaska,
those overlooking gravel beaches on bay shores
laden with chill mists, I know that the windy
meadow overlooking the tidal marshes
of Totem Bight is one good place for love.

And love can grow up like a smooth stone
in a river bed below blue ridged mountains.
You dive into such a place in northern Georgia,
a continent away, where the names on the map
are Tococa, Fannin and Suches, where freshwater
moss comes close to your granite heart.
It is said to be a good place; I know it is.



 

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