Hydrangeas

by J V Birch

The hydrangeas are gossiping again.
I watch crowds of tightly permed heads
nod in pinks, purples and blues
each shade a result of where their feet stand.

When they’re not fuelling rumours
you’ll often find them chattering in hedgerows
or in a swan song on tables as a single bloom
always tidy, delicate, aware of themselves.

I kept dried ones at home until
their silence and stares became unbearable.
Now I simply admire them in parks and gardens
to hear their gentle disagreements of colour.

This poem is a public submission created for Red Room Poetry's New Shoots digital poetry anthology.