Today I am planting tulips.
I am planting five red tulips in a white pot.
Today they are white inverted hearts,
each wrapped in a russet papery skin.
But one day there will be five red tulips,
red as blood, red as wounds, red as wombs,
standing strong above their white pot.
One day they will unfold into
chalices, cannikins, cupels,
ready to be filled with light.
That is why today I am planting tulips,
nestling them safely in the dark,
where they will wait, biding their time,
slowly, silently stretching their
white roots through dark soil,
until they are ready.
And one day, when they are ready,
there they will be –
suddenly, unexpectedly –
five red tulips in a white pot.