the bud

the bud

before she could talk
her heart a tight bud
not like a rose bullet
refusing to bloom
this needed touch
refuge required
to begin to unfurl

two decades went by
until she left home
found a heart tribe
where she could fit in
under kind care
the heartwork began

fifty years later
her heart’s open flower
she shares her abundance
with those nearby
they all grow a garden
awash in warm blossom
and have made a
brilliant bouquet

2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

I welcome comments and discussion!

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