I bloom when I speak,

When the rain beats the windows,

When I recline in the sun.

 

I bloom, if you remember,

When you ask, who is the artist-

The one who teaches the future.

 

I bloom when I nap,

Softly breathing, dreaming beneath

A tartan print blanket.

 

I bloom at night, reading

The words of someone else,

Lit brightly and warmly.

 

I bloom with righteousness

And anger and peaceful

Resignation and absolute resolve.

 

I bloom to the tune,

Your humming, the record as it spins

Time and joy our way.

 

I bloom with the lights out,

All in, no looking back, freed

For a brief time.

 

I bloom atop metaphor, trailing

Words, eating them as sugar,

Heaping them into my skirt.

 

I bloom with oil in my mouth

And strawberries on my lips.