National Poetry Month Poem-a-Week 2012: My poem “Redbud & Pitbull”

April 30, 2012

Eastern Redbud Tree (Cercis canadensis) blossoms - photo © Valerie Reneé
on Flickr - noncommercial use permitted with attribution / no derivative works

The Eastern redbud (Cercis canadensis) is one of my favorite trees. Native to eastern North America from southern Ontario to northern Florida, the redbud is an early harbinger of spring.

Also known as the “Judas tree,” it is among the first to bloom. In my experience, it flowers before the cherries and magnolias in the mid-Atlantic.

The redbud is easily recognizable from its showy, magenta to fuchsia-pink flowers appearing in clusters from March to May. Rather than bursting out of the ends of branches, however, the redbud’s flowers seem to “break out” on bare stems before the leaves and sometimes on the trunk itself.

The flowers are pollinated by long-tongued bees such as blueberry bees, carpenter bees and mining or miner bees.

Calvin, my pitbull, is no stranger to my readers and friends. I’ve written about him before and he had quite a few followers on my Twitter account (@greenskeptic) where I often post pictures of him.

Calvin in the Wissahickon

My poem, “Redbud & Pitbull,” originated from a scene I witnessed sitting on the porch of my former house two years ago. The redbud I had planted there a few years back had still produced no flowers.

I was curious about this fact and about the frenetic activity of the mining bees, which should have been pollinating the redbud, because both seemed to be indicative of my life at the time. I was simultaneously unsettled and not yet ready to flower.

What a difference a few years makes: the redbud flowered for the first time this year — and what glorious flowers have bloomed in my life!

Here is my poem, “Redbud & Pitbull”:

 

The mining bees are emerging.

Males zipping around

tiny holes in the ground

where females are burrowing

beneath the redbud.

The males have a curious display;

more manic than romantic,

expecting a mate to think crazy

is sexy or superior.

 

I guess we all

fall prey to a little crazy

love now and again,

do something foolish,

cross a line or two.

But the bees flying too close

to the ground are just frantic,

can’t imagine they’d make

suitable mates.

 

They course and dive and zip

(yes, that’s the best word for it, zip),

while females wait below the redbud.

My pitbull Calvin watches

the mining bees swirling

above and into the ground

beneath the redbud. He thinks,

Who or what are these (things)

buzzing and drilling in the dirt?

 

Truth is, the mining bees

–neither food nor friend—

pay him little interest.

Now Calvin grows bored,

slopes over to the sidewalk

flopping down in the sun.

The redbud’s waxy leaves

glisten in the same sun,

green edging into red.

 

Calvin is mottled, piebald,

brindle and white with a big brown

eye patch that makes people smile.

He’s a lover, not a fighter.

He cares little why the redbud’s shock

of fuchsia flowers, like scales or

a rash running up the limbs hasn’t shown.

He has no word for flowers

and little time for bees.

 

–Scott Edward Anderson

P.S. This poem, along with “Calvin’s Story,” appeared in Dogs Singing: A Tribute Anthology, published by Salmon Press. If you love dogs and poetry, you must have this book – it makes a great Mother’s Day gift too!

3 Responses to “National Poetry Month Poem-a-Week 2012: My poem “Redbud & Pitbull””

  1. kalabalu Says:

    Waiting for flowers to bloom
    But alas! no hope it seems
    as the spring comes to garden
    but not to my tree
    all i get is a swarm of busy bee
    buzzing ..fuzzing..and ….flying busily
    but flowers no..no sight

    Do i wait for the nest summer
    and pass the year as it be
    hoping next year..i will watch
    the red bud tree
    not only with bees


  2. […] National Poetry Month Poem-a-Week 2012: My poem “Redbud & Pitbull” (seapoetry.wordpress.com) […]


  3. […] my poem, “The Postlude, or How I Became a Poet,” of the mining bees that open, “Redbud & Pitbull,” insects are also not strangers to my poetry […]


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