By Erica Gilman
I will not say I have bloomed for you,
for I have already opened my petals
a long time ago.
I was rosy and ready,
and loved by the summer sun.
I bloomed of my own accord thankfully,
I knew my stem was enough to hold my own
head, full of dreams of growth,
my leaves would protect me.
I could have thorns, if I wanted.
But my head and heart were blood red,
and my petals reached up and out
wanting as much as I could get,
until I took my rightful place
in my world.
Fall came, and I watched everything die
in a vibrancy of colors,
for chaos is full of new beginnings.
Winter came and I froze,
my petals locked back up and torn,
but when snow fell, I found solace.
The summer solstice came
and took me on an adventure,
I cannot say I bloomed for you,
or in hopes of you,
but I will say,
while my petals are more magenta than primrose,
while I do have a great many thorns,
my stem is stronger intertwined
I’m more radiant than I’ve been in years.
People walk by and sometimes
pause to wonder
what my soil contains
or how much water I get,
to grow so big and so tall.
I tell them I grew myself,
but I did have help
along the way.