Fairy tale

Fairy tale

   I saw it on my way back
   from the mailbox,
   its bold. lush orange face
   bursting through the space
   between the steps,
   as if it were the norm
   and all day lilies grew
   beneath the stairs

   how did it grow
   in this gravelly wasteland
   of sour weeds and lowlife bugs?
   how did it survive
   the childhood
   of dark deprivation
   to bloom with such
   ferocious joy,
   such in-your-face,
   hey, look-at-me
   exuberance?

   fairies or God,
   I think,
   and cut the stem long,
   place it center stage
   on the windowsill
   beaming from the tall, lithe,
   narrow-necked, greenglass
   vase,

   the radiant optimist
   reveling in attainment,
   and sunset hours
   away

--Ethel Pochocki

Brooks, Maine

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