Just before noon I step out back
to take a break from wondering
what my life will become.
The sun is on the flower bed,
turning the poppies into
small bowls of light.
How simply they make
their offering:
nectar for the bees,
pollen for each other,
subtle bows to their low sky.
One flower is just emerging
from its small, green cocoon,
the rich orange petals still sheathed
in the home it’s grown out of.
I kneel down and—
like the gentlest prayer
—slide off its whole, close world.
I guess sometimes birth comes easy.
Sometimes it’s as simple as revealing
what’s already whole.
This is a poem from my new book, The Wilderness That Bears Your Name.
The poems in this book walk with you through seasons of heartbreak, rebirth, and homecoming. Check out all the details and see where to buy it here: