you were always a lily

in my mind, captured for beauty, almost strong enough to survive, and yet...
still, fervently reaching for the sun, that ever burning proof of love, something eternal beyond yourself always out of reach, just beyond a corner, or a curtain, a bee trapped inside of a window pane (pain), dying from thirst and desperation.

it hadn't occurred to me the strength that it takes to survive a transplant like that...from your link to the earth, cut off from your roots and brought to a glass trap, filled with water unfiltered by dirt, put on display and subject to the cruelest scrutiny of love...the hand of death and decomposition looming ever, waiting for the slightest threat of brown or wilt...

and yet you often run, a child with scissors towards the danger of love, and stand strong in the face of skepticism, my skepticism which is a hard foe to face...and so i see you, my mother and think of the strength of lillies...

the gladiator of them all