Laura Sobbott Ross Mount Dora (Jeff Santosuosso)
Amaryllis We readied the bulbs in the days before the baby arrived. Full solstice moon nudging what was curled inside its own winter sleep; every bulb, nested & rooting. Miraculous, the way green startled out, ribboned toward the light-- light that was a new dominion lording across a tracery of capillaries, eyelashes, flutter of breath, the fusing of the soft crown of bone. I’m talking about the baby, of course, whose wails shuddered open from her newly dredged lungs, while amaryllis pushed and pushed its flame points skyward till they fell over on their new, floppy necks into the full-throated red of bell-shaped blossoms. |
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