Life from the Deaths We Do Not Want to Die
Photo by Rochelle Johnson on Unsplash
A Poem by Elizabeth Wickland
Do we begrudge the flower bursting forth
because the breaking open must mean pain?
Or do we gasp in awe at beauteous worth
when what springs forth from sorrow is such gain?
The splitting seed would surely seek reprieve
from all the pressure building up inside.
It feels like death, this breaking that we grieve,
a shameful transformation we must hide
from all who look upon with piteous glance
at cracks that form before their judging eyes.
But if we wither we forfeit the chance
to rise up true and shake off all the lies
that threaten to recast this seed—a tomb
where resurrection flowers never bloom.
Elizabeth Wickland lives in Bozeman, Montana with her husband, daughter, and two Yorkies. She has a love for words and their stories and has responded to life through poetry and art for as long as she can remember. She also enjoys gardening and cultivating beauty in her small corner of the world, whether in person or online. She writes for The Black Barn Online, and her work has been published in The Unmooring, Calla Press, The Way Back to Ourselves, and The Rabbit Room Poetry Substack, among others. You can find her on Instagram at @punamulta.priory and at elizabethwickland.substack.com.
