Marigolden

Listen while you read:  Field Report

I left Nebraska in my summer dress
Left him behind there to straighten out his head
Jane was working for the airline, and she bumped me up to business
She feels the thrill of every liftoff in her heart and chest
She smelled like saffron and glowed gold and rust
Years ago, I loved Jane Harmony once
But the fall fell from August and the petals all dropped off
We're always finding old lives to run away from

And I started to believe it

Thirty thousand feet: I am seated by a surgeon
Said he fixed the dicks of Shahs' sons who wanted to be Western
Jane caught me roll my eyes, and we made up constellations
Of unicorns with Roman candle horn approximations

And I started to believe it

The voice of God came on, cautioning the wind
Jane strapped in and looked into my eyes
I watched us fall breathless
Cascading over nothing
I was feeling marigolden
Gliding to the ground

And I started to believe it

~  Chris Porterfield (Field Report)

On my list of things to do today: drive Jenna to the airport (again) and buy a couple of flats of marigolds. So there you go. Song selected. "Marigolden" is Track #7 on the album of the same name, released in the fall of 2014 by Field Report. Perhaps you noticed that "Field Report" is an anagram of "Porterfield." And Chris Porterfield is basically Field Report. "For me, songwriting all starts with the words. I'm very lyrically driven." No wonder I like his work.

My first reaction to the story being told here, at 30,000 feet no less, is one of the absurdity of life. Look no further than the line of the Shahs' sons' dicks (say that three times fast) to see what I mean. But hidden within the seemingly meaningless lines are some gems. We're always finding old lives to run away from. It's true, right? The voice of God came on. Doesn't it seem that the pilots are gods when our lives are in their hands? I watched us fall breathless, cascading into nothing. A plane's descent? Or death?

Porterfield's lyrics encourage you to think deeply as you try to extract some meaning from his meanderings. But be careful. You might start to believe it.

The word "marigolden" is made up. Perhaps Porterfield was simply referring to how all the petals dropped off as we glide to the ground in a natural state of aging and decline. Consider it a golden age, and it's less disturbing. According to the Victorian penchant for assigning meaning to various flowers, marigolds have historically represented grief, cruelty, and jealousy. The Mexican celebration of Day of the Dead, held in late October, uses marigolds as part of the creation of altars to remember the dead. I find it interesting that a more modern assessment of a marigold's "meaning" assigns optimism and success to the flower. However you interpret it, it's a cool word.

And a cool and august flower, too.