These lines are from the poem "High Dangerous," by Catherine Pierce, yesterday's gift from the Academy of American Poets' "Poem-a-Day" series. This poem is lovely and poignant—it captures the once-and-future sensation of watching your children and experiencing, in that moment, the prospective sensation of reminiscence, and loss, that you know will fill your memories after they've grown up and moved on.
I'm too impatient to endure "reading" books by means of audiobook, but poetry must be read aloud. Hearing the poet read this poem is a bonus-upon-bonus—
—since it's the best way to appreciate the beautiful pun that this poem is built around. And not just any pun, but one about my botanical-name-pronunciation bête noire, the hydrangea. "Dran" or "Drain"? Dictionaries differ. The garden club ladies in The Manchurian Candidate "drain." I was stuck in the "Dran" camp, muttering "how strange to say 'hy-drange...'"—oh. Got it. (One small case of hypercorrection cured.)
These pom-poms...I'm thinking 'Annabelle,' yes?
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