Amaryllis was previously published in Underwood
The scaly brown mass rests just over
the water, its roots submerged
like the tentacles of a jellyfish afloat
in a shapely tank of ruby glass.
I observe it closely, hoping for a hint,
some secret of transformation,
but Hippeastrum does not yield.
Then, suddenly, one day, there is green,
and it rises ever so slowly over days
and weeks. I watch the tip, which seems
about to burst, but it, too, takes its time,
opening just as slowly, revealing one
tightly clasped blossom at a time,
until fnally, there is a burst of fireworks—
deep ruby or ghostly white, a Monet mix
of pastels, or a giant peppermint candy
of red and white. It is nature at its showiest,
but it is also a kind of miracle, the brightest,
most festive display of color emerging
from something drab and seemingly
impenetrable. I do not know the secret,
but I keep my heart open, and wait
for its slowly rising green to emerge
and show me colors I can only imagine.
