The night was unusually warm and inside the Sacred Grounds Cafe it was even warmer. The reading was about to begin when my father’s neighbor Devi and I walked in with two huge arrangements of dahlias. Some of the blossoms were as big as my head, some dainty like pompoms on a clown’s tunic. We put them down on the host’s table next to the mike. Their grandiose presence stunned everyone.
Devi wanted to bring the flowers when I read my dahlia poem, which was published in the Bulletin of the American Dahlia Society. I selected my reading based on a flower theme, which means any poem with the faintest suggestion of flower was a qualified candidate. As the night went on the dahlia looked even more vibrant as we melted slowly in the heat.
The poetic diehards hung on to the very end. When the reading was concluded I invited everyone to pick a dahlia. The room suddenly came alive again. Eager hands reached out and the vases were promptly emptied. We walked out of the cafe into the cooling night each holding what could have been mistaken as gigantic lollipops. I watched the dahlias floated away in all directions. It was beautiful.
