When you potted light
The dying and wilted red fern on my back porch,
You told me it would grow strong
And fight shadows out of my corners like
Dragons out of caves.
You told me to
Let it wear the weather
Like a cloak and said
A glimmer of sun would always bring it
Back to life after the rain.
I asked where the roots and
Stems and leaves and
Birds singing in the branches were,
But you smiled,
Said they’d show up one day.
For years it stayed,
Growing stalwartly through the changing seasons.
I cleaned out snow drifts and autumn leaf bits
And exercised the fledgling tendrils of sun
By letting them weave dances around my fingers.
I was singing the other day,
When you appeared, hand outstretched.
I returned your planter with a smile,
Light pouring through the cracks in my teeth.