They came before the day began,
before I was ready to be seen.
Pink lilies, shyly unfolding
against the raindrops of morning.
Too early,
and yet, how touching,
that someone remembered,
and could not wait.
A student once,
her handwriting still a little unsure,
has sent these blooms ahead of time,
as if to say: I’m still thinking of you.
And I, suddenly,
am thinking of her, too,
of the long afternoons of talk and snacks,
the faces that pass through us and keep going.
I set the lilies by the window.
They open a little more each hour,
as if practicing tenderness.
Their scent follows me through the room,
a quiet persistence,
like love that never quite learns
when to stop returning.
Thank you
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