Posts Tagged ‘tulip’

The average color of the universe
is not blue, as they thought, but beige—
or so they say after studying
two hundred thousand galaxies—
a fact that makes me stand longer today
beside this tulip as it shamelessly splays
its statistically unlikely yellow and red,
a living manual for possibility—
in all of deep space,
the chance to show up in this garden.

Read Full Post »


Consider the tulip,
how it rises every spring
out of the same soil,
which is, of course,
not at all the same soil,
but new. How long ago
someone’s hands planted a bulb
and gave to this place
a living scrap of beauty.

Consider the six red petals,
the yellow at the center,
the soft green rubber of the stem,
how it bows to the world. How,
the longer we sit beside it,
the more we bow to it.

It is something like kindness,
is it not? The way someone plants
in you a bit of beauty—a kind word,
perhaps, or a touch, the gift
of their time or their smile.
And years later, in the soil that is you,
it emerges again, pushing aside
the dead leaves, insisting on beauty,
a celebration of the one who planted it,
the one who perceives it, and
the fertile place where it has grown.

Read Full Post »

One Gospel




lavishly splendid,

the purple tulips in their vase—

there is nothing they don’t bow to


Read Full Post »

Two Surrenders





tired of blossoming

the tulip





tired of being a woman

I become

a tulip



Read Full Post »

two haiku

watching the tulip
do the splits, every part of me
becomes tulip


this old atlas
pages of borders long since changed
and rose petals

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: