Thursday, December 11, 2014


The bud knows at its heart 
there's time to crack open, to what the wind brings 
pollen has to bleed,
the arms have to shake 
and  petals,fall on little girls' hair 
before the birth of almonds

Like buds, I celebrate 
cracking open to years winding 
carrying with them pollen, whiffs of other people
it is the petals that do not shake in me
they change color with severe weather but fail to fall 
on nicely combed pigtails, they refuse to hide in the corner of braids 

I am stubborn, I know- 
too hard for my own good but at least 
my almond comes 
at its own pace, with a different taste: 
sweet when let to cool with the grazing sunshine
bitter when squeezed out of me.

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