Advice for the Tulip

Scoff, impatient tulip, at the dirt
seeming to push down against your thrill
as if to claim your colors as its own.

Cough it up. Don’t let corrupt hail hurt
your eager voice from singing what it will
into the silence, dried out, winter-blown.

Off off, false light. Shy bloom, lie inert
no longer. Shake loose of death’s last chill.
Reach out where your memories went thrown
against all odds to stand on high alert
                            freed creation’s ill.



by dean with maggie


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