The mornings are crisp and the nights are drawing in. This means it’s time for one of my favourite poems:
A year ago in autumn
you came home
with a cyclamen
with hot pink flowers
and gave it to me
as a gift. It lived
on the windowsill in
our bedroom next to
the cream jug with the
blue handle.
All autumn and all winter
the hot pink flowers
kept untwirling
and all autumn and all winter
I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe
this could exist
in the darkness.
As spring came and turned warm
the flowers and leaves died down
until it was nothing but
brown earth in a small pot.
I took it outside,
put it in the cold frame
and hoped it would
stay alive.
It did.
And now it’s autumn again
and I brought it in
and put it back
on the windowsill in
our bedroom next to
the cream jug
with the blue handle
and the hot pink flowers
are untwirling
and it reminds me
that even when the whole world
is turning dark
and the weight of human horror
is heavy in the heart,
somewhere
a shocking spark of light
is rising –
bold, daring,
proclaiming truth and beauty
in the gloom.
Love and courage,
Leah