The Most Amazing Bloom
You see, I want to write a love poem,
but sixty-three years have taught me
I do not love well.
It is not for a lack of passion,
you inspire passion I was unaware I was capable of.
Even now, years from that first time we saw each other,
my heart races as you enter a room.
It’s a little embarrassing at my age,
when I am supposed to be all settled and sedate.
But there it is.
It is not for a lack of respect.
You amaze me. Constantly.
Smarter, stronger, braver,
more beautiful than you believe,
I am often humbled in juxtaposition with you,
glad to be behind you, to learn
from the things I am not
and you are.
It is not for a lack of loyalty.
I do loyalty well,
drilled into me from the time I was a child,
I am perhaps a bit too.
But there are worse faults.
For all its costs in the past,
I will take this one.
it lets me sleep.
No, something else is missing.
And I am not sure what.
Sight perhaps, knowing what is what.
Or a mind that moves too quickly in thought
and too slowly in emotions,
Or perhaps I lack the courage for hard love,
too in love with love to do the work,
or the right work at the right time.
or perhaps, perhaps and perhaps.
It is not so much a list as a whirlwind of demons
and second-guessing, never sure
if the fertilizers I choose will heal,
All I know is my track record is not
what I envisioned.
And yet, here you are, the flower in my life.
still here, my taste of spring in an old man’s winter,
the most amazing bloom in the garden
I have tended so poorly.
About this poem.
The picture was taken in a garden in Las Vegas, years ago. I’ve been carrying it around for years waiting for the poem in it to show up.
Tulips are my wife’s favorite flower.
I adore my wife. And she loves me. Life can be strange and wonderful and amazing. At least mine is.
Be well. Have a blessed weekend.