survivors

A poem.

the rain raged down without warning.

it pounded our plants & dashed them

against the unforgiving concrete.

their shallow water-catchers ran over

with dirt-brown rain--the soil,

it could hold no more. we saw life

threatened by relentless force, the downpour,

roiling clouds, storm-eyed nature's fit.

I ran outside, seized the pots from the catchers,

dashed away the angry gathered waters.

the strawberries, tomatoes, mint,

the fledgling pot of purple pansies--

doused, drenched but not yet drowned.

oh, but the sunflower seeds, still asleep

beneath their soil beds--trampled

by the sky. so I took each one

& put them in a dry box on the sill,

watched as the coming days bathed

them in cloud-split sun. & then

we saw them: green sprouts

rising in the still-damp dirt,

nature's dare against its own violence.

they came to us, we who cannot

trek beyond the patio's metal rails

& the old front door, even with masks

& cautious shoes & darting eyes.

& now we feed smalls sips of water

to these fledglings, these little Lazuri,

until it's time to bloom against the world.