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A close-up photo of two pink flowers with yellow stamens
Julia Hoersch / Redux

My Amaryllis

A poem for Monday

Sometimes in spring, I separate myself
from others to re-create the intensity
of my youth. Probably I am just trying
to survive, like you and all the others.
Time has stripped away certainties,
and I don’t want to forget the past.
Like my amaryllis, I need a stone in my pot
as a ballast. Clutching a pillow in the night,
I witness kindred shapes paddling forward,
unrecognizable figures holding out their arms,
like athletes on a field. Vain as Picasso,
mechanical as a beetle, I want to make
a thing I haven’t made that says,
Look how he’s evolved.