Crocuses and Daffodils, By Monica Giglio Crocuses, daffodils blooming, in a yard that’s now a blurr, Her children bringing bunches from the yard picked just for her. There are not many memories that endear her, to the life she had there before, But the unspoiled innocence of her children, and the sound of her banging porch door. The porch was the Narnian wardrobe, the house and the yard were their world, And she was the Queen of their Childhood Land, as the bittersweet years unfurled. As they toddled or ran from the yard to the house, she’d hear the porch door banging. They’d need her assurance for a minute or more, and she was there with love unchanging. And they came to her with flowers, turtles, butterflies, frogs and bugs, And boo-boos and hurt feelings, for Band-Aids and her endless hugs. Band-Aids and hugs were more than enough, to soothe what they knew of pain. But the horizon’s storm was encroaching and she knew it was not a Spring rain. She battened down the hatches, for as long as she possibly could. She’d protect them from what was coming, from the pain only she understood. And she’d hold them and kiss them, and love them forever, and send them back out to play But she knew their unspoiled innocence, would come to an end soon one day. And she prayed she’d be able to see them through, it would take more than Band-Aids and hugs, To heal pain that might haunt them forever, as they handed her flowers and bugs. Crocuses and Daffodils tell her, of a time she still dared to believe When hope sprung eternally in her breast then, and now she is not so naïve. They left the house with the flowers, and she held them tight while they cried Starting over again in a faraway place, while she taught them her strength and pride. And together they made the transition, through changes brought by the years And they leaned on her and she held them up, and she kissed and wiped their tears. It’s been a while since she heard or felt, the pulse of that banging screen door When they came to her to feel centered, and went back outside to explore. Like a bridge to the joy and pain of life, how it spoke to her with its sound It was the heartbeat of her children, as they came in and out and around. The yard of crocuses and daffodils; alas she no longer calls “mine”. But her children visit step-family, in that house she left behind. And the hands of time keep turning, and Spring comes every year. Flowers bloom in the same yard again, even though she is no longer there. But in her life, if she looks for it, beauty was and is still always there. And her children are like the Spring flowers, blooming beautifully everywhere.
Posted on: Fri, 21 Mar 2014 13:42:50 +0000
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