And here they are, the wild violets.
How they leap into gardens uninvited,
their tiny purple faces unapologetic, open.
How they thrive amidst the other plants
chosen by the gardener. They do not mind
not being the chosen ones. They thrive.
Tenacity can be so small, so beautiful.
I may not be a powerful woman,
but I have some wild violet in me,
some willingness to insist on renegade beauty,
some desire to be soft and yet persist,
some certainty that the garden
is big enough for us all.