by Emily Tee

It’s in the greening
the brown bark, grayed under winter light
washed out, bled dry, bleached
now stroked by sun, warmed
buds that sit tight as fists
closed as a shuttered mind
furled like that was how they were meant to be
until the moment of their becoming

each stout stem, each flower that pushes through
the thick crust of the forest floor
see how the woods are coming into themselves
the slender wrist of the white lily
the strength of its fragile beauty
backed by the ramrod engine of life, growing

try as we might to fight it
in this becoming is joy

Photo by Sharon Co Images on Unsplash