A Friday Flower

Memory fails, like falling petals
drifting on early spring winds. I reconstruct the
how, but not
why . . .
A whim, perhaps
of Mother Nature’s eye?
In the scurry of chores: fixing, mixing, mending, moving, painting, shifting,
I dropped to my knees,
peering under the front porch floor; a glint of light.
Spring happens this way, at least for me.
A light shines in the darkness.
And the darkness shall not overcome it.
In this instance, no solo guttering flame
to break the near-darkness: two tiny trillium plants clung together,
straining towards the brilliance
of that long, lighted tunnel.
So . . . I rescued them, and you know how it goes
when a plant thanks you
for your help:
         From two dainty flowers come two hundred,
        A carpet of grace and gentle, quiet power.


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