BOTANICA
9.25.20
Saffron | Crocus sativus
three Stigmas in a sea of Stamens
they pluck your gender at high value
and they don’t know what they’re missing
it’s your strength that humbles me
a muscle stronger outside its shell
how something so small and frail dares to
grow in the coldest of places
not brashly, you’re not picking fights with the seasons
you have nothing to prove
more tenderly,
embracing the snow that opens back to you
you’re not shy either,
un-apologetically cradling yourself igloo
a splash of purple during seasonal depression
like some capricious parrot finger-painted
the memory of sunshine on the ground
the tear feeding Skelleton Woman
the signaling of spring,
a child’s first breath,
the first crack of light through a tightly shut curtain
there are some who believe we hold grief in our lungs,
fitting then, for you to open equinox
each exhale releasing bitterness and tensions
breaking down walls with sympathy and kindness
the type of cry demanding two quick consecutive breaths
the one that fills the lung
and the second to hug the empty space where sadness is no longer