Petals unfurling at night,
a flower blossoms in the shimmering glow
of an ever-full moon.
Stubborn and devious,
it will not bloom in broad daylight
(no, for there it withers
under the stout resistance of one’s heart
and mind.)
Instead, this sickly-sweet blossom prefers
a still, silent world
shadows
poor night vision.
Feet, hands frozen
as if in a dream
can neither pluck it
nor flee from it.
A stray cloud passes;
the momentary distraction
shatters the illusion.
Then, a deep breath,
blankets tucked in again.
Weary eyes shutter.
The petals collapse in on themselves,
defeated for this night.
Most of my creative energy in the last weeks has been directed toward church-related plans and staying present with broader invitations of life. All of this has required a high level of collaboration, which is fantastic and I wouldn’t trade any of it!
But it has been awhile since I’ve written anything “shareable” for the blog. I saw this on a friend’s timeline and I knew it was true for me.
The poem above, perhaps yet unfinished, has been rolling around for awhile. It speaks of that which keeps us up at night — anxieties, traumatic memories, resentment, anger. There is something about the dark that invites these things to blossom in ways they wouldn’t dare during the day. Sometimes there is the grace of a passing cloud, or a new perspective; often there is not.