A poem for growth

I stumbled across the worn journal in my closet while home recently.

The lined pages held clippings, photos, poems I loved, poems I wrote.

Poetry holds a power unlike other writing.

The brevity and rhythm requires a different focus and creativy. So for work, I started writing poetry again. If you’re ever feeling stuck with creative ideation, try poetry.

White flowers

I tend the branches with less gentleness than I hoped.

Tear at the vines circling the roots. Scrape away weeds suffocating the barely green branches.

I dig deep into the cool dirt, feel the grit on my skin.

Damp. Calming. Tethering me to millenia of humans doing the same ritual:

Toiling the earth to free new life and beauty,

In the plant and in their souls.

Then, oh then, I see it.

Years later on a fresh morning.

Glowing, winking at me across the garden.

Seven perfect white blooms.

Be patient, they beckon.

Trust the creator, they whisper.

He is always tending and pruning.

One day, you will bloom and glow, too.