There’s one gardenia bud on the whole bush.
Two weeks now—
one bud on the whole bush.
I’ve waited for the bud to unwrap, to bloom,
but no change—
It’s still firmly sealed.

For my first formal dance, my date brought me
a gardenia corsage.
The fragrance was so pungent, I took it off
my wrist and pinned it to my clutch purse.
Then I left the purse in a safe, remote location
until it was time to go home.

When I was with my husband and kids
at Disney’s Epcot in Florida, I saw a small
field that had been planted with gardenias.
I bent down to the ground and inhaled
the scent, took in the creamy white petals
nestled in dark, glossy leaves.
The flower had finally seduced me.

Now, I tend to my own gardenia bush
in its cobalt blue planter, and I wait—
but not patiently.

I make plans.
When I have blooms, I will float
one in a glass bowl.
I will wear one in my hair or
I’ll give myself a corsage and pin it on my chest.

I am waiting for my gardenias to bloom.