Tulips from Issue 61
Maybe our failed hopes rise like tulips
out of the cold ground,
and, when we look around,
there their satin bowls are, chocolates,
and swaying, velvety clarets, aglow
with memories of help we thought would
appear and belief we watered.
And we do have something to show,
goblet-like reminders of our stubborn
labors─or we don’t, and refuse
odorless flowers and choose
to live without consolation.