I’m finding the only way to write my way out of writer’s block, this stubborn silence, is to write into it.



I’ve been waiting

for a poem to bloom.

It is an act of faith

to hope that behind my closed lips,

beneath the hollow throat of my silence,

the hot green heart of something

is pushing steadily upward.


In three months I’ll gather sheaves

of gladiolus, half as tall as I am.

Do pink and yellow, coral and lavendar

live furled all winter beneath cold ground?

Do they dream of July in their knobby, tight-fisted

December bulbs?


And if I remain here, contientious in care,

watchful, trusting, will the words rise?

Will they return to me, all colors?

Lavish on their slender stems, will they be more

than I can gather and carry?


Following the thread of a word

or a phrase through May

with other good folks and

the prompts at A.L.M. Writes



4 thoughts on “bloom

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