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{"title":"Mrs. Flowers","authors":"Mary Jo Salter","doi":"10.1353/sew.2024.a934400","DOIUrl":null,"url":null,"abstract":"<span><span>In lieu of</span> an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:</span>\n<p> <ul> <li><!-- html_title --> Mrs. Flowers <!-- /html_title --></li> <li> Mary Jo Salter </li> </ul> <p><span>Five minutes before the concert begins.</span><span>I'm sitting next to some old guy—</span><span>even older than I—</span><span>and ask him some idle questions.</span></p> <p><span>Does he live nearby?</span><span>Oh, did he walk then?</span><span>I walk that street, I know his view—</span><span>right on a little public garden.</span></p> <p><span>Nothing fancy, and yet delightful.</span><span>I picture the spring newlyweds</span><span>posing for photographers</span><span>before beds of tulip and daffodil</span></p> <p><span>or under the bridal canopies</span><span>of cherry trees;</span><span>billowing picnic blankets kept</span><span>from flying away</span></p> <p><span>by babies, set down like paperweights …</span><span>but I don't go into that; he knows it.</span><span>It's wonderful the city supports it</span><span>is all I say. <strong>[End Page 479]</strong></span></p> <p><span>Oh, he says, the funds are private.</span><span>Or they are now. Didn't used to be.</span><span>Really? It turns out he was chair</span><span>of the garden committee</span></p> <p><span>for years and years</span><span>and he had it on authority</span><span>nobody else who worked on the city</span><span>budget had been aware</span></p> <p><span>a little fund for the garden was in it.</span><span>Don't rock the boat,</span><span>don't ask for more, or</span><span>that pittance will be taken away:</span></p> <p><span>that's what his source had said.</span><span>And then that city bureaucrat quit.</span><span>He happened to be replaced—get this—</span><span>by someone named Mrs. Flowers.</span></p> <p><span>Mrs. Flowers! The old man</span><span>laughs at the thought of her, the dragon.</span><span>She cut the garden fund at once—</span><span>Cut Flowers, they called her—and ever since</span></p> <p><span>the locals, or those who can, donate</span><span>money or time. A happy ending—</span><span>or not quite that; a funny one</span><span>about killjoys, who always sort of win. <strong>[End Page 480]</strong></span></p> <p><span>The string quartet is tuning up;</span><span>it sounds like whining,</span><span>the sort of thing</span><span>people tend to do on committees</span></p> <p><span>before one person has the sense</span><span>to call for silence.</span><span>The old man and I defer to it</span><span>with a seasoned nod</span></p> <p><span>as people in the neighborhood</span><span>had to Mrs. Flowers.</span><span>And went on waiting for the music</span><span>and planting flowers. <strong>[End Page 481]</strong></span></p> Copyright © 2024 The University of the South ... </p>","PeriodicalId":43824,"journal":{"name":"SEWANEE REVIEW","volume":"113 1","pages":""},"PeriodicalIF":0.1000,"publicationDate":"2024-08-09","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":"0","resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":null,"PeriodicalName":"SEWANEE REVIEW","FirstCategoryId":"1085","ListUrlMain":"https://doi.org/10.1353/sew.2024.a934400","RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":null,"EPubDate":"","PubModel":"","JCR":"0","JCRName":"LITERARY REVIEWS","Score":null,"Total":0}
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Abstract
In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:
Mrs. Flowers Mary Jo Salter Five minutes before the concert begins. I'm sitting next to some old guy— even older than I— and ask him some idle questions.
Does he live nearby? Oh, did he walk then? I walk that street, I know his view— right on a little public garden.
Nothing fancy, and yet delightful. I picture the spring newlyweds posing for photographers before beds of tulip and daffodil
or under the bridal canopies of cherry trees; billowing picnic blankets kept from flying away
by babies, set down like paperweights … but I don't go into that; he knows it. It's wonderful the city supports it is all I say. [End Page 479]
Oh, he says, the funds are private. Or they are now. Didn't used to be. Really? It turns out he was chair of the garden committee
for years and years and he had it on authority nobody else who worked on the city budget had been aware
a little fund for the garden was in it. Don't rock the boat, don't ask for more, or that pittance will be taken away:
that's what his source had said. And then that city bureaucrat quit. He happened to be replaced—get this— by someone named Mrs. Flowers.
Mrs. Flowers! The old man laughs at the thought of her, the dragon. She cut the garden fund at once— Cut Flowers, they called her—and ever since
the locals, or those who can, donate money or time. A happy ending— or not quite that; a funny one about killjoys, who always sort of win. [End Page 480]
The string quartet is tuning up; it sounds like whining, the sort of thing people tend to do on committees
before one person has the sense to call for silence. The old man and I defer to it with a seasoned nod
as people in the neighborhood had to Mrs. Flowers. And went on waiting for the music and planting flowers. [End Page 481]
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