The promise of what

is ready to arrive

cocooned in the perfection

of the white tulip.

Future secrets encased in

tightly folded layers

of tender petals.

  

What is held inside?

We all hope for beauty, for

freshness, for light.

That withheld promise,

transforms the tight bud of the tulip

into hope itself.

 

The slow unfolding of that

tiny white heart, can be

torturous, so much is riding

on the reveal.

 

It has to be slow, otherwise,

the sheer beauty of its heart might

be too much. Too stunning.

 

Some days, I find myself wishing it

would never open. Stay a frozen, icy

bud. Afraid of the darkness it

might hold at its center.

 

 

Rebekah Spivey

Winter Retreat

2017