Dry, peeling globe,
whiskered, spidery tendrils bottomside.
Topside, a thumbnail pokes through
plays at growing green
threatening strong stalks towards the sky.
Blooms are said to hide within--
secrets in scarlet, crimson, peach
pearly white, the palest pink--
a plantiferous palette of possibilities.
But I do not see their beauty now
Cannot feel any joy at what is there
unseen.
I'm feeling bulb-like these days,
layers of daily, dull, drudge
covering a floral wonder.
Lacking zip or zeal,
taking on water, daily light,
turning when needed.
Always turning.
Always needed.
Feeling not feeling
but going by faith that the Spirit,
latent though He seems,
is there.
Waiting, powerful,
pushing in, out, up
present always.
He'll appear in His time
bloom high above the quiet soil
and shout, "Life!"
at the top of His lungs.
So I wait
and turn
and keep on drinking.
~~~
c. Jody Lee Collins, 2015
