Youth Must Be Served

I’m watering the yard, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice
a branch of the plumeria tree bend; there is no wind today.
That tree grows closest to the wall bounding my property, in the top corner.
Looking up, I see a young woman, early 20s, pulling the branch down toward her.

Many plumeria varieties are deciduous, drop their leaves and are dormant for months.
As the leaves come back, so do the flowers, a gradual process.
Right now, only a few leaves, and even fewer flowers have shown.
The branch she’s pulling down toward her has the only five or six flowers on the tree.
She goes up, on tiptoe it seems, for she sways as if about to fall,
and strains with the other hand to reach the blossoms.
She manages to grasp one, plucks it, and lets the branch boomerang.

Placing the flower behind her ear, she then repeats the bending, plucking, boomeranging.
Plumeria branches break easily, and fearing a third assault, I yell,
“So did you want to pick some of my flowers then?”
Startled, she looks down at me, casually says, “Oh no, just these two.”

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