One summer evening
lightning streaked across the sky for hours
zigzagging its way down to somewhere far away
and I was thankful for the distance, almost.
It seemed to break the sky so the sun could shine
like the ground to crack for cicadas to emerge
like the cocoon to fracture for a caterpillar
to become a butterfly
like a bulb to split for a tulip to bloom
like saltmarsh grass to break down to detritus
to become a saltmarsh again
Something has to break to blossom
to break to be whole again.
With all the confinements of sorrow and grief
the prison of loss and failures, my wish is that
“I, too, would break into blossom.”