I picked the shortest-stalked paperwhite
I could find, hoping to prolong bloom time
deeper into advent, but since Saturday
the slender stems have shot up, leaning
toward the light; now the first tender bud
is swelling, waiting for the sun’s return
to burst forth in defiance of the cold.
is this an echo of the eagerness
with which I am meant to hope?
sister narcissus, teach me to plunge
my roots deep into the living waters,
and drinking, unfurl, unafraid.