It looked dead, the orchid.
After long extravagant glory,
the blossoms dropped quickly,
one by one. The stem shriveled,
dried. Every time I looked at it,
all I saw was what wasn’t there.
People said it would reset.
They said it needed rest,
a little bit of extra care.
But eight months later,
the plant still looked dead.
There are times we lose hope.
Times when our eyes tells us
we’re fools to believe beyond
what we see here now.
But from what seemed
like nothing, a long dark stem
appeared, lined with buds.
And what a fool I was to doubt,
to let the eyes lie to me.
Already they’ve remembered how to see
what will be. Already they remember
how to see the beauty
of exactly what is here.