It’s odd, the memories that a sight can trigger.
When I saw the newly opened tulip In my garden,
for instance, glowing orange and magenta and pink
and gold, at first I just stopped, and held my breath
and stared, mesmerized by its hues. Then it came,
the memory of the teacher on the first day of art class
telling us that some things are beautiful, some not.
As an example of the latter, she said a mix of pink
and orange could never be considered beautiful.
I dropped the class. Had she never seen a sunrise?
Or the petals of a tulip?