Bare branches.
Bare barren branches one would think.
Winter clouds
hang low
build up
release their burdens
unwanted on the earth.
Gray dropsical clouds.
Bare winter branches.
No hint of spring.
Then, suddenly,
near the garden gate
a cloud of fragrance
Looking up, the branches are no longer bare.
Calycanthos.
Winter flowering.
Sweeter than the spring
for unexpected.
Calycanthos.
The word itself
calyx, kylix, cup.
Anthos, flower.
Kalos, beautiful. kantharos.
Calyx, kylix, chalice.
Perfume, incense, offering.
The essence of the flower
an overwhelming essence that gives,
so unsparingly, of itself.
Touches, envelops
in an invisible blessing.
A flower with no preconceived idea
of what it should be.
Small waxy petals, sepals, tepals
The color of a winter Grecian gown
The blossoms of Joseph’s rod
Of Wilde’s Young King
or of the tree
that bursts into bloom
in the selfish giant’s garden.
From its deep red heart
the chalice of the blossom
does overflow with fragrance
A winter flowering
like my love.
A winter flowering without a past
and all the more the sweeter.
Calycanthus (January 6, 2003)
Bare barren branches
dark against low-hanging clouds.
The cold caress of winter
on my cheeks.
Then, suddenly,
an unwonted fragrance
belies the month.
The branches by the gate,
no longer bare,
have burst into an
unexpected
winter flowering.
Sweeter than
any long-awaited spring.
Calycanthus fragrans.
Small waxen petals
the color of a winter Grecian gown.
A silent modest flower,
pouring out its essence
from the chalice of its wine-red heart.
A blessing in this winter of the soul,
a winter flowering
like our love.
Erika Bizzarri 
Beautiful lines Erika, and both versions are a subtle delight to read. The calycanthus seems perfectly chosen as the vehicle to carry this sense of the unexpectedness and sweetness of love. I find myself wondering why ‘like our love’ has changed to ‘like my love’ in the later version – no significance I suppose. Marvellous lines.
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I’ve been thinking about why the opening of this piece so resonates with me. I think it’s because it reminds me of you, yourself:
The essence of the flower…that gives, so unsparingly, of itself. Touches, envelops in an invisible blessing. A flower with no preconceived idea of what it should be…
Thank you for introducing me to this “silent modest flower, pouring out its essence from the chalice of its wine-red heart. A blessing in this winter of the soul….”
As I reread both parts of this piece, it feels like a meditation on memory, and maybe you will forgive my presumption in saying that. In any case, to hear you read this double poem and to see your photograph that accompanies it is a special delight. You, modest Erika, are a blessing to so many of us.
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