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Flor de Mayo

November, 2011

Three yellow blossoms, multiform and perky

survey us from atop the flor de mayo tree,

challenging November after thin and wrinkled leaves

died without a final murmur, leaving speckled branches sharp.

Here, no-one knows the name frangipani, nor

islands named Hawaii. Nor plumeria, formal Latin.

But yes we know the use of leis, adorning every politician.

Few know from where their frangipani came nor how

it traveled, swept along by dark-skinned porters,

fruit of every color, babies born in moving canoes.

Flor de Mayo the women repeat: flower of May.

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