A Flower in the Burn Scar

I see you peeking timidly

from between the skeletal bars

of your bleached, bony fortress,

vibrant colors a sign of defiance

in this scorched grayscape.

I hear your silent exclamation

of resurgence and rebirth.

Your seed burrowed deep

as the buck sheltered you

from the raging furnace above.

He must have been fearless,

offering himself as sanctuary

to your unborn, fragile beauty

in the face of nature’s fury.

He nourishes you still, I think.

His essence feeds your tiny roots

as his spirit rises in your petals

and radiates from your golden eye.

His iron will lives within you,

reflected in your bright bloom

reaching up toward the sun.

I wonder what you see

from your apocalyptic high ground,

up among the blackened stumps,

baked cinders, and ash.

The charred hillside gives nothing

but perhaps you look toward

what will follow as you grow.

This barren charnel floor

will be healed someday.

The Mother will make it so.

She bestows her healing powers

as part of a grand design

that always lives on.

You are the hope she sends.