The Tulip
It started with a bulb.
One that fit snug in my tiny palm
Grasped by soft fingertips.
Mama helped me scrape open the hole
Three times deep and cover it
With chopped leaves
Using delicate hands.
She tells me that tulips bloom in spring but
Preparation begins in winter.
Bulbs need twelve weeks to chill,
Three weeks to sprout.
She speaks of patience.
April greets me with bright yellow
Petals and a sigh of
Relief. Kept promises.
In a few months time
Petals shrink and wither down
Till the yellow dulls to a sickly state.
Snipping spent blooms
I leave behind sturdy stalks
Adorned with magical leaves
Soaking rays of sun
To heal their bulbs.
When winter returns, I’ll make a hole again
And the hardest part won’t be digging but
Yearning for a spring blossom.
