You instructed me

To always plant bulbs

As the light fades,

To have green shoots

Crowning the edge of a pot

In December.

I have done that.

I can see their

White, arched roots,

Can almost smell

The way they infuse a house–

A room with hope.

And I can see you

Tending to them

As you did me,

Bending over

Muttering little words,

Telling Mom that

In a few weeks

The star-white flowers

Will burst from

Their fat cocoons.

It’s a good thing

I followed your instructions

Because these papery bulbs

And green shoots

Have resurrected                             

Your shadow that

Arched over me each night,

Ever so carefully

Tucking me in.