My Love Grows Orchids

She grows orchids, of course.

Fireworks tethered to the earth by stems,

their surreal explosion of pattern and hue

parading across on our fireplace hearth…

But her grace was present before the show.

The balance of the orchid is this:

That the episodic audacity of its blooming

erupts from such an ordinary nest of leaf and root

that the plant is considered disposable by most

gone to trash once the first flower falls.

She cherishes these dormant plants

negotiating on their behalf with sun, water,

soil and pot, she shuttles them from table to sill

frantically searching for the elusive sweet spot

where the elements will best nourish her charges.

In time, a proud shoot emerges… fragile, small,

almost unnoticeable among the hard green leaf,

the chipped bark and gnarled brown root of the bed.

She gasps, calls me to share, to venerate the birth

and we hug, her gazing at the delicate shoot, and I at her…

The shoot rises unevenly, wobbles, leans and yaws

reaching towards a higher light and freedom.

She ties a stick to its middle, gently guiding it upward

daily assessing, yet not interfering beyond what’s needed

as bump becomes bud and bud bursts to flower.

She grows family as she grows orchids

Fiercely proud, but of them and not herself.

Infinitely giving, for the sacred joy of doing so

Protective, supportive, involved, in love

Brilliant fireworks across life’s hearth

The balance of her family is this:

Her heart sees no ordinary moments, no disposable times

Her family grows rooted in her abiding devotion, not to their flowers,

but to their existence, to the very breath that each one draws

and which, returned home, is oxygen for her own lungs.

My love grows orchids and family

Blooms and hearts tethered to home and hearth

A constant profusion of love made manifest and pure

by a selfless soul, a patient hand, and always

a Mother’s devotion and infinite grace.