EARLY BLOOMS

A
hot house it was, too small

For
the four of us, who bloomed too early

In
pots too small, were overfed,

Flowering
quickly, before it was too late.

 

We
struggled to blossom prettily

To
become the right color and shape

Exude
the most pleasing fragrance

 

It
seems, though, that in the hot,

Close
cramp of childhood there was

Too
much heat, roots too shallow,

Desire
too strong.

 

Or
maybe our seeds weren’t right

To
produce those blooms.

 

Later,
we tried to put down deeper roots,

To
find good soil, nurture the tiny shoots

That
could become the unique bloom of

Our
lives. We tried to stop seeking

The
gasp of admiration from strangers

 

To
revel in our own odor, love

The
thorny stems, jagged leaves, sometimes

Frumpy
flower heads, and

Flaunt
our own patchwork hues.

 

Sometimes,
we succeed, and dance and nod

In
the gracious breeze of evening,

Certain
we are lovely, pleased

With
ourselves.

 

At
other times, when we are asleep,

Visions
of the most beautiful and most beloved

Flower
haunt our dreams, and

We
awaken once again as weeds.

 

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