I am NOT a gardener.
Though a gardener I’ve never tried to be…
Every natural wonder I’ve ever encountered
has been there before me,
remnants from previous tenants’ tastes
and sculptures wild and free
lovingly planted in my path
by the Creator Almighty
and meant at the time of discovery
to be the personal messages needed.
And so it is with my hibiscus pinks,
cut down to the ground by the men
so they could build a fence more easily.
Flowers dear to me for the way they so faithfully
after such meaningful moments took turns blooming
to mark the milestones in my healing,
to commemorate the special blessings,
to symbolize with such humble beauty
the changing seasons within me.
In the soft, golden morning rising sun,
they lift themselves again to greet me.
Not defiantly. Just filled with inspiration.
An example. A reunion. A smiling.
I approach and spend some moments
I do not have according to clock and duty.
The buds seem from an extra-long green
hibernation to be defrosting, thawing.
I know what lies inside. The knowing
denies mystery but does not anticipation-impede.
My heart does indeed too beat again,
my dear friends.
They can never cut short
our aspiring stories.
Poem and images ©LauraDenise