The Amaryllis
       

Still clap-closed, still podded like hands
in prayer, the amaryllis
Julie gave me for Christmas
is still unbloomed. A thorough weekly
watering, she suggests;
more sun. I look for a window
on the first floor where it streams
in strong, but there is none.

                                  I need a room
like the one I'd find my mother
snoozing in, late afternoon
in my growing-up house, the sun a wall-length
heat lamp, fierce healer of aches,
eraser of worries, where for twenty minutes each day
she could close her eyes, and open,
and dream of anything but us.

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Copyright © 2022 Theresa Burns All rights reserved
from Design
Terrapin Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission