Mary Petrosky Bearded Irises Not squatting to thin them with a trowel, she stands, uproots them with a spade, slices through the rhizomes' white meat, the stiff green blades. Mother works methodically down the side alley digging and discarding the not yet bloomed-off irises she's grown tired of. I stand eye to eye with the last few, unsure how their beauty has failed, whether crowding habit or unruly leaves pushed them out of favor, too young to know about capacity, its limits, my fingers petting the fuzzy yellow tufts, tugging violet petals as I might the cat's ears but urgently, my mother's shovel approaching.

Shirley Novak: "Bearded Iris Colony" (Detail; click for complete image.)

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