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Third Place Winner: Heidi Greco

Homily

This morning I received a letter from you
something to pause and hold in my hand, a gift
it seemed, from somebody else's past. Opening
the envelope, I pulled out the sheets of paper, unfolded
their careful creases, remembering how you were the one
who first unfolded the lines of my body, opened
me to myself. Among news about your mother, complaints
about your son, a joke your four-year-old granddaughter told, you
ask me about nasturtiums, inquire if the climate is mild enough
in the town where you still live, whether they'll grow
and flourish there, that place I try to forget, the town
I moved away from most of a lifetime ago.

Yes,
they can be grown there, I begin to compose my reply,
explaining that nasturtiums were my first success in the garden.
I remember myself as a child, pushing a handful of wrinkled seeds
into the warm black soil I'd shoved into an old clay pot.
How the sun felt, that morning in June, as I stood with its heat on my back,
hands on my hips, half-expecting green shoots
Jack-and-the-Beanstalk style.

Then, even when I'd forgotten them,
how they'd thrived without my help, surprising
me when I'd stumbled on them, weeks later
behind the shed. Discovered their clutter of leaves,
interspersed with orange and red, blooms so bright
they might have been singing, loud in the August heat,
their surly tipS tumbling over the lip
of their cracking clay container, even their roots a jumbled knot
a thicket emerging beneath.

I learned, I think, a lesson or two
from those sprawling summer nasturtiums, their resilience
an inspiration to be examined. The fact that they will survive restraint
or the tang of utter neglect, find a way to nourish themselves
then explode in the purest of hues: a gallery of sunny flowers
exultant, beside the road.

And for a moment I press my lips against
the pages of your letter. Taste the bite of time gone by, only slightly bitter
and think of an orangey bouquet, its petals
drooping in a vase, forgotten and maybe left behind
too long ago.



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