for e.m.m.
The amaryllis
you gave us
three weeks ago
grew two inches
just today—
so much life
in such a short time.
Already, the two
thick buds
are swelling,
twin green
chambers.
So much of
any miracle
is invisible,
though it happens
right before
our eyes.
I can hardly stop
watching the buds
and thinking
of you, wishing
for a miracle
and knowing
that even if
one is rising
up right now,
it wouldn’t
be like the amaryllis—
miraculous
as this flower is,
we know
it’s red petals
that emerge. No,
what I wish
for you
is something
I couldn’t possibly
know—something
I couldn’t name
or predict, something
that will rise out of
what seems to be
nothing and render
us astonished,
humbled, delirious
with its impossible
grace.
Love the long, slender shape of this poem, so like the amaryllis. I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from going down the page with it either. But I do also love miracle invisible too, which feeds the poem so naturally until we see it rise from within us too.