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Posts Tagged ‘blossoming’

Things that Bloom

 

 

I’m thinking of silence, how when it opens,

it changes the room with its fragrance.

 

How frost can make a garden

of a window overnight.

 

Old friendship—sometimes

even when we forget to water it,

persists like mint.

 

Fear, of course, is knapweed-ish,

tap-rooted, invasive. Almost impossible

to eradicate its petals of panic,

petals of dread.

 

Sometimes a name can bloom

on the tongue when the syllables

stem from someone we love.

 

And when we’re very still, the moment itself

seems to bloom, like a peony

revealing layer after tender layer,

charging the air with sweetness.

Now flower. Here flower.

 

The moon, that giant cream perennial,

reminds us nightly how we, too,

are called to grow our light

toward the dark.

 

And uncertainty, it comes to us

in giant bouquets, each bloom a question

that doesn’t want to be answered,

it wants only for us to hold it in our arms

like the gift it is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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IMG_6026

also known as Johnny jump up, heart’s ease, heart’s delight, come and cuddle me

 

 

Into the shade by the porch

bloomed the first wild pansy,

its small yellow face sunny

and eager and open.

 

The Athenians used to make

the tiny flowers into syrup

to moderate anger and

to comfort and strengthen the heart.

 

And here it is today,

small volunteer beauty,

growing in this patch of dirt

where nothing else wants to grow.

 

This tiny garden is but one of many

concurrent realities—others involve

hospitals short of beds, loved ones

gone, doctors scared to go home.

 

Our hearts need strengthening.

Little violet, we’re learning, too,

how to be surrounded by death

and still rise up, bring healing as we bloom.

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One Inexplicable

 

 

 

midwinter storm

and between white drifts

this rose slowly opening

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Erika on the red mat
tucks her right foot in her groin
and bends forward from the waist

then lowers till she’s hovering
above her left tippy toes.
If you can’t follow

what I’m saying, that’s
because her body’s twisted,
furled and folded as a body seldom is.

But full of grace,
she brings her hands
to meet in prayer in front of her

and for a minute poises there,
a compact bulb with five small roots
and a patient shoot waiting

to push up and through.
It’s beautiful to stand beside
Erika on the red mat

to feel more than see
the rising energy as like
a tulip in the spring

she reaches not just up
but into the quiet balance point
where anything can happen.

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impossibly, there
is in me enough sky for
these great blue wings

*

in these dark halls
I wander the meadow
unfolding inside me

*

your
blossoming my
blossoming

*

you look so funny said
the goose, as I lurched to
avoid the puddles

*

lost, at last
now I can get on
with my life

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two

we are like roses
in winter—we should not be
blooming but we are

*

when I don’t need the
storm, I fold it up and put
it in my pocket

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