Summer arrives
in a dazzle
of pink blooms.
The gardener admires
my petals with his fingers.
Reach for the sky!
Seasons pass. Rivers slow. The gardener comes in shadow — a small flask
of rain.
A brutal cutting!
Tendrils reach out for him, asking
“Why?” as they fall.
His tapping boots fade.
I curl in grief, hidden
under earth’s dark starve.
Endless night, silence.
Who am I without my bloom,
my admirer?
From the stillness, Spring
enters in a rush to wake
‘n shake me up.
Why didn’t I know? Pruning
brings new lustrous blooms.
It was only winter.
ani martin 2024
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